Guardian Angel: Callaghan Brothers, Book 5 Page 2

  It only took a second for her to come to a decision, and in Kane’s opinion, it was the wrong one. In one smooth movement she pulled off the covering she wore, using her teeth and hands to rip it into strips. Surprisingly, she wore shorts and a tank top beneath it, with something that looked like a multi-pocketed toolbelt/apron type thing. Not what he would have pictured a nun to wear beneath her outer habit.

  She pulled something out of one of the pockets, ripped it open with her teeth and pressed it to his wound. Whatever it was it burned like a son of a bitch. He pushed her hands away impatiently, knocking her on her ass more than once, but she just kept scrabbling up and trying again until she had managed to bind his injuries the best she could with the tattered remains of her covering. It had all the makings of a slapstick comedy, and it probably would have been funny had the situation not been quite so dire.

  She was quick. And tenacious as hell. He had to give her that. Finally she plopped down in front of him protectively, so close she was almost in his lap, pulling the gun back toward her and pointing it away from them.

  “Here,” she said, pulling yet another item from her pockets. “Chew this. It’ll help with the pain and assist with the clotting.”

  He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. So she did know English. She was definitely American. And she was totally, one hundred percent, certifiably insane. He glared at her, putting the full force of his power – what he had left anyway – into it. It should have been enough to scare away the bravest of men, but if the slight quirk of her lips was anything to go by, she seemed to find it amusing.

  “And if you’re a good boy, I’ll give you a Tootsie Roll afterward to get the bitter taste out of your mouth.”

  Well, that explained the whiff of chocolate he got every time she spoke in his direction. It was not something one typically smelled in a looting massacre out in the middle of the jungle.

  Kane blinked. The situation had gone from insane to surreal. A nun half his size – and with more curves than a Penthouse centerfold - was sitting beside him, soaked in his blood, speaking to him like a child and offering him candy. Yep, it was official. He’d lost it.

  “Son of a bitch. Are you fucking stupid? Get the hell out of here!”

  Huge brown eyes fixed on his. Jesus. Where his were cold and icy, hers were warm and soft with brilliant gold flecks. A light brown with swirls of something darker, naturally outlined with a rim of mahogany so deep it almost looked black. Her smile widened, just a little.

  “I’m not leaving you,” she said simply. Her voice – it was like warm honey, soft and flowing, like her eyes. Despite the fact that her body was still shaking, that her clothes were saturated with blood, that she was sitting there with a semi-automatic in her lap, her voice sounded perfectly calm and relaxed.

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Just what I need. Mother Goddamned Theresa.”

  Her lips quirked, but otherwise she seemed completely unfazed. “What is your name?”

  She really was nuts. What was this, a social? But her voice was compelling enough – or maybe it was simply the blood loss – that he found himself answering anyway. “Kane.”

  That seemed to amuse her even more for some reason. She gave a light, musical laugh, one that left an unexpected lightness in his chest at the mere sound of it. Like her, it had no place here.

  “Ah. A good Biblical name, that,” she murmured.

  Kane snorted in response. He was tempted to tell her the spelling was all wrong, then wondered what the fuck he was thinking. He was on the ground in the jungle, shot through the hip with nasties all around, stuck with a nun who obviously had a death wish for them both. Perhaps she was okay with moving on to the next life, but he still had some things he wanted to tidy up before he was ready to check out. He managed to convey his thoughts to her in one or two roughly hewn but disturbingly clear and concise sentences.

  “Maybe, Kane,” she said, narrowing her eyes, her unnatural patience finally beginning to waver a little, “if you put some of that attitude toward getting up we can both get out of here. I’d prefer not to die today either, if you don’t mind.”

  Sweet Jesus. She was lecturing him now? But it didn’t take a genius to realize the woman wasn’t going anywhere without him. He supposed he should feel a sliver of gratitude for that, but all he could summon was thorough irritation. If she died, it would somehow be his fault. He hadn’t exactly led a life of purity, but there were probably mega-bonus Hell points for being responsible for the death of a nun. He might not be a staple of the church these days, but his Irish Catholic upbringing would never let him forsake a Sister.

  He grumbled again, but stuffed the bitter tasting herbs into his mouth and pulled himself to his feet, grimacing through the pain. Immediately he felt the warmth of her arm around his waist, her insistent tugging on his hand as she ducked beneath it to offer support and felt a surge of intense guilt at how good it felt.

  She wasn’t a woman, for Christ’s sake. She was a frigging penguin. He forced the image of his elementary CCD teacher into his mind – Sister Ursula. Small and withered, about a thousand years old, with stockings wrinkled above her orthopedic shoes, starched habit, and constant scent of Ben Gay and mothballs. And with that came the memory of the metal edged wooden ruler rapping sharply against his knuckles. Repeatedly.

  That helped. A little. Enough that maybe between that thought and the pain shooting thru his body he might be able to ignore the little shockwaves her touch was sending throughout the rest of him. Oh yeah. He was going to Hell for sure.

  “So what do they call you?” he asked as they took their first steps forward.

  “Besides Mother Goddamned Theresa, you mean?”

  Ah. A nun with a death wish and a sarcastic wit. Fucking A. And hey – were nuns allowed to curse like that? Maybe God overlooked shit like that in extenuating circumstances.

  The sound of gunfire behind them kept him from answering. Together they hobbled toward the east, trying to move as quietly as possible. Neither attempted conversation again. Several times they were forced to stop when they heard shouts nearby, but thankfully, they remained undetected. He could hear her grunt under the effort it cost to support him, but she did not complain.

  Shit. He had a hundred pounds on her, easy. If the situation was reversed, he could have carried her to safety without breaking a sweat. Sometimes life was a bitch and a half. Either that or God had one hell of a sense of irony.

  They finally emerged upon the rendezvous point, Kieran running to them and quickly relieving her of the burden. Only much later he would remember how she sagged to her knees behind him as Kieran took over and helped him to the Jeep.

  “Package was picked up an hour ago,” Kieran said. “Let’s get you the hell out of here.”

  Gladly. He’d had enough of this God-forsaken place. He was getting way too old for this shit. Using his powerful arms, Kane swung himself into the waiting Jeep, clenching his teeth against the pain as his hip took the impact. They still had a way to go until they were out of danger, but with Shane and Kieran there, the odds were considerably better. Kane clenched his jaw, formulating the scathing tongue lashing he was going to give to the fool woman as soon as she joined him. But she didn’t.

  A few minutes later, Shane climbed into the front seat, cursing a blue streak as he put the Jeep in gear and began to drive away.

  “Wait!” Kane protested. “What about Kieran and the female?”

  Shane did not look happy. “The woman said she had to go back, help the others. Kieran went with her.”

  “Fuck! Stop the fucking Jeep! “

  “No can do.”

  “It’s suicide!”

  The look on Shane’s face was grim. “Gotta get you to a medic, bro.”

  “Fuck that!” But he knew what Shane wasn’t saying, could tell by the expression on his face every time he looked at him. Kieran had a fighting chance to make it back out. With the amount of blood Kane had already lost, he didn’t have the sa
me chance.

  Shane got him to the base. After ensuring that Kane was in good hands, he went back for Kieran.

  Kane couldn’t get the image of the woman out of his mind. That honey-colored hair, the exotic, soft brown eyes with golden flecks. The calm, soothing voice; the grace and courage under pressure. The complete, all-encompassing aura of warmth and compassion, mixed with just enough spice to make it interesting. She shouldn’t have been in a place like that; a woman like her should be teaching Sunday school in some close-knit, peaceful community, not handling an Uzi in the middle of a freaking jungle.

  She didn’t belong there; she wasn’t a killer. Hell, the look on her face after she dusted those bastards was one of pure horror and revulsion. Bet they didn’t teach that sort of thing at the convent.

  It was a hell of a waste, that whole scenario. God had some damn good taste in calling her. She would have made a mortal man a good wife – soft and warm, yet feisty ...

  Kane instantly shut those thoughts down. He was not going there. He lifted his eyes to the canvas ceiling of the medic tent. Sometimes, he thought, you can be a cruel bastard.

  The medic pulled away the cloth binding and stared at the makeshift poultice with grudging approval. “Someone knew what they were doing,” he said.

  “Don’t look at me,” Kane grunted. “Some crazy-assed Sister slapped it on me. Made me chew some nasty shit, too.”

  The doc raised his eyebrows. “Well, that crazy-assed Sister probably saved your life, Callaghan. Maybe you should say an extra rosary tonight.”

  The sun was rising when Kieran and Shane made it back to base. They looked like shit, covered in dirt and sweat and blood, but at least they were alive and seemed to have all of their parts in working order. They collapsed onto the cots near Kane.

  Kane watched the entrance expectantly, but no one else followed them in.

  “What happened?”

  Kieran’s arm was draped over his face. He just shook his head. It was Shane who answered. “It was a massacre, man. Nothing left of the village but smoldering ash. But at least we got the bastards responsible.”

  “The Sisters?”

  Shane just shook his head. Kane felt a block of ice drop into his gut. “What about the female?” The one who refused to leave him behind. The one who went back for the others.

  “A clean-up team came in. She was helping them recover and ID the bodies.”

  Something like relief flooded through him. “She is alive then?”

  Shane lifted up his head and regarded him curiously with his uncovered eye. “Last we knew.”

  “Did you get a name?”

  He shook his head. “No. But she said to say thanks and give you these.” Shane reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of Tootsie rolls.

  Son of a bitch.

  Chapter Two

  Three Months Later, Pine Ridge, Pennsylvania

  Kane pushed one arm through the cotton button-down. “Well?”

  It took his brother a few seconds to answer. Michael crossed the examination room and studied the results from the latest series of strength tests. “You’re improving. I think the rehab is going well.”

  Kane tugged the other arm through and began to fasten the buttons from the bottom up. “So I’m good to go then.” Without even realizing he was doing so, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a Tootsie roll, popping it into his mouth and discarding the wrapper with a careless but accurate toss into the wastebasket. He’d developed quite a fondness for them, it seemed.

  “Kane,” Michael said, his expression grim, “I know what you want me to say, and I can’t. I’ve done what I can, but you’re lucky you’re even walking. You take any more damage in that hip and you’re looking at a custom titanium replacement.”

  Kane looked at his hands and nodded. No surprise there; he’d suspected as much. He’d been stateside for three solid months – a new record for him, at least since turning eighteen and heading out to BUD/S.

  Much of that time had been spent hanging around Pine Ridge, the town his family called home. Kieran ran the family-owned health club known as BodyWorks, and Kane had been spending most of his days there on the state-of-the-art equipment, working hard to regain his strength and mobility after the shot that nearly shattered his hip joint beyond repair.

  Weekends, though, were for him. He allowed himself the luxury of spending time alone at his secluded cabin in the mountains. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his family, but he felt out of place. Kane was a solitary man by nature, and while he appreciated their efforts to include him, he preferred to spend his time alone.

  Things were different, now, too, because four of his younger brothers were happily married and building families of their own. Jake had Taryn and their little spitfire Riley; Ian and Lexi had Patrick and another one on the way. Michael and his wife Maggie had an adorable little bruiser, Ryan. Sean and his new bride, Nicki, were still in the newlywed phase, and rarely seen. That left him, Shane, and Kieran. And of course his widowed father, Jack.

  There weren’t as many missions these days to distract him, either. Wedded bliss tended to have a dampening effect on their natural urge to seek out and destroy the bad guys. The bonded males found that they preferred spending their nights in bed with their wives rather than in vermin-ridden fox holes and caves. Go figure.

  Something in Kane’s chest gave a slight lurch at the thought. He’d never quite understood the desire to settle down with a woman and start a family. His brothers hadn’t, either, until they found the ones they claimed were their fated mates, their hearts, their croies. They tried to explain the experience of finding the perfect woman, of discovering the one who held the other half of their soul, but it really wasn’t something that could be conveyed through mere words. It was something you had to feel to comprehend the magnitude, they’d said.

  Kane had heard their words; he had seen the effects of the unions on the men he’d known their whole lives. He didn’t doubt them, nor did he begrudge them their happiness. He just knew that he was not cut out for the same fate. He was different. He’d always been different. He was the oldest. The biggest. The strongest. The coldest. His job was to watch over the others, and to ensure their safety and well-being. It had always been that way.

  But things were changing, and it left him a bit unsettled. Jake, Ian, Michael, Sean – they had their women now, their own families, ran their own businesses – all under the Callaghan family umbrella, of course. The umbrella that Kane had carefully constructed over the years, using his exceptional financial and planning skills to ensure the family would never want for anything.

  He applied the same skill and expertise to the missions they undertook. They all had their parts to play, but there was no question that they looked to Kane as their leader since Jack unofficially retired. The frequency and severity of the missions had drastically decreased since last year when they almost lost Michael to a sniper’s bullet. Now Kane reserved the most dangerous missions for himself, Shane, and Kieran, unwilling to be the one to look into the faces of their wives and children should they not return.

  Now, with him out of the action, he was even more selective in the missions they undertook. Not that Michael would have cleared him anyway, but even if he couldn’t be there with them physically, he could at least make damn sure they had the closest thing to a guarantee he could give them of returning home in one piece. None of them had more experience than he did.

  It was hard for him to stay behind while his brothers disappeared for days at a time, always coming back with a few more scars, a few more memories they didn’t need.

  Damn, he was feeling old. At thirty-six he felt more like fifty; some days, perhaps eighty would have been more accurate.

  Kane was brought back from his musings by Michael’s thoughtful voice. “To be completely honest, I can’t figure out how the hell you got out of there with your hip shot up like that,” Michael was saying.

  A familiar image came to Kane’s mind. Wha
t had it been, a whole five minutes since he last thought of her? He knew what got him out of the jungle without a body bag. And the answer was in the form of a five-foot-four inch honey blonde with puppy dog eyes, a core of solid steel, and a penchant for little chocolate candies.

  The wind howled loudly outside as the rain pelted against the windows. Pine Ridge, along with most of the northeast coast, was being battered by the latest in a series of hurricanes, and “Lana” was being anything but merciful. They were situated well above the river’s flood plain, though others weren’t quite as lucky. Ian was following the storm and the local help efforts on no less than four screens. Kane knew Ian was trying to keep himself occupied until his wife, Lexi, returned home from work safely. Ian, like his other mated brethren, shared a bond with his wife that defied the status quo. They weren’t two separate people; they were one, in every sense that mattered.

  “Anything new?” Kane asked, trying to sound casual as he popped another candy into his mouth and peered over Ian’s shoulder. It was an almost impossible task, however. Kane’s voice always sounded deep and powerful, even when he was asking inane questions in an attempt to distract his brother.

  His little nephew Patrick toddled up to him and attached himself to Kane’s leg. Kane automatically extended his long arm, putting a few tiny pieces of soft chocolate candy into his chubby little hand.

  “You know, Lexi’s going to kick your ass if she sees you doing that,” Ian chided.

  Kane shrugged. “Only if you do it. I’m an uncle. I’m allowed.”

  “They’re a choking hazard.”

  Kane looked down and gave his two-year old nephew a stern look. “Chew. Don’t choke.”

  “’K,” the little guy said, nodding soberly.

  “Problem solved.”

  Ian snorted. “I can’t wait till you have kids,” he mumbled.

  Yeah, like that was going to happen. They didn’t call him the Iceman for nothing. He’d long since given up on the hope that someone would be willing to put in the effort it would take to get past all that.