A Baby For Mommy

He thumbed through the six pictures, holding Rachel’s picture next to Raffaela’s picture. With makeup and different hairstyles, it was easy to tell one from the other. But if they had the same hair arrangement and no makeup, he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. Now—because of the wreck, the heat, and time that had passed—the quickest way to identify which twin had died was jewelry or lack of it.

“Just great,” he mumbled cynically. “If the other one is still alive, I get to save the bitch.... Focus on the little girls,” he reminded himself aloud.

Pocketing the pictures, he tossed the branches back over the body. In a few more minutes he found the pilot’s partially decomposed body.

For the next hour Micah went over every inch of the crash site, walking in ever-widening circles until he was in thick brush and trees. Lianas draped over branches and hung to the ground. Where an occasional patch of sunlight broke through the forest canopy, the vines were covered with green leaves. Butterflies looped and circled lazily, and scarlet macaws perched high in trees like bright red blossoms.

It took Micah another hour before he found a hair ribbon caught on a fern. He could detect where someone had moved through the brush, and he followed their tracks. He swore softly because they were headed deeper inland. If they had gone west, they would have had a better chance of reaching a town. Any direction they had taken, they could easily be caught in the middle of guerrilla warfare.

He prayed he could keep on their trail until he found them. He could detect where leaves were disturbed, palmetto pushed aside. In minutes he spotted a red thread caught on a frond.

An hour later he discovered where they had stopped to rest beside a murky stream. Once he realized they’d followed the stream, he could track faster. Unfortunately they were headed up the stream and by late afternoon the stream ended and their tracks moved away in the bush.

In the lush forest, night would come all at once. Keeping an eye on his watch, Micah stopped his search. After the quiet during the steamy midday heat, the trees came alive with the sounds of animals and birds. He slid off his pack, taking a long drink from his canteen. In the last light of day, he fished out the pictures again and looked at the two women, pulling up the picture of the socialite. The Bolivian industrialist had a beautiful Texan wife. Judging from the the tracks, which were growing fresher, he figured he would catch up with her tomorrow.

“I’m hungry,” the smallest girl cried.

A thick auburn braid of hair fell forward as the woman bent over and retrieved bananas to hand to each child. Two days ago they had come upon banana trees. Starving, they had picked bananas and eaten them. After they had rested, she had picked all the bananas she could carry, making a pack out of the large leaves from one of the trees. They were living on the bananas and the last of the baby formula that had survived the explosion. The carry-on had burned, but cans of formula and bottles had been salvageable and she had placed what she could in the children’s large bag.

At the sound of voices, she whirled around, her gaze searching through strangler figs, bromeliads and palms while her heart pounded in fear.

Two men appeared, their gaze raking over her boldly. Terrified, she stared at them. There was no mistaking the lust that gleamed in their dark eyes. Each man wore a holster with a pistol on his hip.

“Buenos dias,” she said, worrying about the girls. “Girls, get behind me.”

“Buenos dias, señorita,” the shortest one said. Their clothes were almost as unkempt as hers. Both wore rumpled black uniforms with boots. Muscles bulged in their arms, and she knew her strength would be no match for either of them.

“My husband will return shortly,” she said. “He is searching for game. Our plane went down,” she said in fluent Spanish.

When they grinned at her, she knew they didn’t believe her, and she wasn’t surprised.

“We have food and a house where you and your husband and children can stay,” one replied as both of them edged toward her.

There was nowhere to run, and she was terrified for the girls. If she told the girls to run and they got away, they couldn’t survive on their own in this wild land. Her mind raced for a way to get the children to safety.

The men grinned at her as they approached. She watched the stocky one who looked the stronger. She slipped the bag off her shoulder, gathering the strap in her hand. All she could think of to use for a weapon was the bag that still held cans of formula.

“I no want the pretty lady’s money,” he said, his eyes filled with lust while he watched her and moved closer. As he reached for her, she swung the bag with all her strength, holding the straps with both hands.

“Run!” she yelled to the girls.

The bag smashed against his head, sent him staggering into the other man and toppled them both to the ground.

“What the devil is going on?” came a deep voice, speaking very clear English.

Stunned, she looked around to see a dark-haired man wearing combat fatigues and boots. A pistol was in a holster on his right hip and a machete hung from his belt on his left side. In his hands was an automatic weapon that he carried with a nonchalance that said he was familiar with its use. He was only a few feet away, coming toward her.

Stepping forward, she swung the satchel again, striking him and sending him staggering back. He swore and raised his weapon as the two men fled into the trees.

Gasping for breath, she faced the man over the barrel of his rifle. Blood oozed from a cut on his temple where the bag had struck him, and he reached up, wincing as he touched his head.

“Damnation. You’re lethal, lady! You don’t need me.”

She stared at him in uncertainty. Was he a threat or would he help them? Tall and broad shouldered, he had a stubble of beard; his dark hair was pulled back and tied behind his head. There was a menacing air of command and strength about him. From his last remark, she guessed he must not have been with the other men, but still she didn’t trust him.

“Who are you?”

“Micah Drake. And you must be Raffaela Granillo,” he said while he pulled out a handkerchief, twisting it to tie it around his bloody head. His gaze rested on the ruby pendant at her throat, and she touched it hesitantly.

The girls came close behind her to tug on her slacks and peer around her at him.

“I don’t know you.” She knew her voice sounded frightened, and she took a deep breath and looked into eyes that were such a dark brown they appeared as black as their pupils. She trembled and gripped the bag, ready to swing again if she had to.

“I own Drake Security. Your brother hired me to find you and your children and your sister and get you back to Texas. Your husband is in Paris on business and he’ll meet you in Texas,” Micah explained, more gruffly than necessary, his thoughts on her. Even with her rumpled state, her torn clothes, smudges of dirt on her face and throat, she was an attractive woman with an earthy sensual air about her. Her actions confirmed that she was not the shy sister. His head pounded. And the ruby pendant confirmed her identity as Raffaela.

He looked around. “Where’s the bodyguard?” As if she needed one.

A puzzled frown furrowed her brow while she shook her head. “There’s no one else with us.”

To Micah she looked as if she didn’t know he was talking about Brogan. And she also looked as if she didn’t trust him or believe anything he had said to her. Why wasn’t she welcoming him as her rescuer? Instead, she appeared frightened and on the verge of swinging at him again.

“What the hell are you packing there?”

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking, but then she followed his glance to her bag, still dangling from her hand. She slipped it over her shoulder and lifted the baby into her arms. The child clung tightly, burrowing against her neck.

“I’m carrying cans of formula.”

He rolled his eyes as he pulled off his backpack, rummaged in it and handed her insect repellant. “I’m glad you didn’t take my head off. We’ll talk later. Use the repellant quickly and we’ll get going. Those two might have friends or change their minds and return. Also, I brought fresh socks for all of you. Clothes that get wet in this moisture just stay wet.”

Thankful for the dry socks, she helped the girls change. As she used the repellant, he opened a canteen and drank, then offered it to her. She gave the girls a drink, waiting and wondering whether to trust him and go with him or try to get away.

Was he who he said? she wondered. He was rugged and fierce. The girls were silent, and she knew they were as frightened by him as she was. Yet could she get all three of them away from him safely? While uncertainty plagued her, she saw little choice. As he watched the trees beyond her, she drank, feeling rejuvenated by the tepid water. His gaze raked over her. “Any bad injuries before we get underway? Any broken bones?”

“I have some cuts and my head hurts. I’m bruised, but I don’t have any broken bones.”

“What about the girls? Sophie? Or the baby, Angelica?”

“They have cuts and bruises, but otherwise we’re all okay.”

Replacing his canteen and repellant, he jerked his head and put the rifle in the sling on his back. “Let’s go.”

Hesitating, tempted to try to run from him, she didn’t move.

He glanced around and scowled. “Are you coming?”

Picking up the small bundle of leaves that held the remaining bananas, she shifted the baby, Angelica, and took Sophie’s hand to follow him. He strode ahead without glancing back, as if he didn’t question that she would follow and could keep up with him. He swung a machete, cutting away vines, and she heaved a sigh of relief because it looked as if he had been telling the truth.

“Mr. Drake—”