Page 14 of Hot Soldier's Rescue

She examined the scar with a professional eye. “You almost died from that one, didn’t you?”

Surprised lit his features. “Yes, I did.”

“Heavy blood loss? Punctured lung?”

“Exactly.”

“What was the fight about?”

He jolted at her question. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised by the topic or just reluctant to tell her. But then he answered glibly, “What else? A woman.”

The explanation didn’t ring true. But then, why would he lie to her about something like that? She probably ought to say something disapproving about loose morals leading to unpleasant consequences, but she was too riveted by the rippling slabs of abdominal muscle before her to form the sentence.

She spied the edge of another scar, its round pucker distinctive. “When did you get shot?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Hazard of the job.”

Hmm. That was not an answer. But it was a beautifully smooth sidestep. “Have you got more than one of those?”

“You want me to take off my shirt so you can count?”

Her gaze jerked to his just as his jerked to hers. Their gazes met in a moment of stunned—and mutual—awareness. Naked attraction shone in his eyes, and there was no way anything else shone in hers. He started to take a step forward and then lurched hard, screeching to a halt. His hands fell to his sides in fists.

“I am so sorry. Again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He swore under his breath, a string of epithets completely unfit for the ears of a nun.

She released the shaky breath she’d only just realized she was holding. “Look. I’m not dead. And I am female. There’s nothing wrong with you for being aware of either. We just can’t do anything about it.”

“Agreed.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them, calm pervaded his gaze. She wished she had that much self-discipline. Her admiration for him climbed a notch.

Drago said roughly, “I think I found your guy. Named Juan Ferrosa. He got drunk and was bragging that his sister worked in some rich guy’s home. Single father with a couple cute kids. He said the guy got murdered a few weeks back. I’d lay odds his sister pulled the kids out and has hidden them somewhere.”

“That’s not very helpful,” Elise commented. How on earth was she supposed to find a woman and two kids somewhere in Colombia?

“I found out where his sister lives. His mother lives in the same village. I bet sis took the kids home to mama.”

She frowned. It was better than nothing. Worth a try, at any rate. “What village?”

“Dinky place called Acuna.”

Her parents had been through there a time or two! She replied eagerly, “Acuna’s not more than a day’s travel upriver from here.” The mighty Putumayo River flowed down out of the Andes Mountains in northwestern Colombia and formed much of the country’s southern border. The broad body of water was infested with crocodiles, anacondas and even more dangerous humans of various stripes. Natives called it the Icá. Either way, it was a deadly place. And Acuna was in the heart of cocaine country.

“You’re not going there alone,” Drago announced.

Right. Like she planned to expose small children to an arms dealer and his brand of danger. She rolled her eyes at him. “We’ve already had this conversation. I’m getting those children and I don’t need your help. And I did okay in the Army of Freedom camp. They didn’t kill me on sight.”

“Because my pistol was already at the back of your head. And I did my damnedest to get them to accept you. For which you have yet to thank me, Sister.”

“Thank you,” she snapped. And then sighed. “God bless you.”

He made a pained face, whether because he wasn’t used to doing acts of kindness or because he wasn’t used to receiving blessings for them, she couldn’t tell.

Silence stretched out between them and threatened to become awkward. To break it, she asked, “How did your business go? Did you get your introduction to the Army of Freedom’s leadership?”

“Actually, I did. Turns out they’re headquartered in cocaine country. Not all that far from Acuna.”

She saw where this was going. In a desperate effort to distract him, she murmured, “Lovely. Now you can sell enough weapons to kill thousands of innocent Colombians instead of just a few hundred. Think of all the orphans you’ll create.”

---