Her Kind of Hero by Diana Palmer Page A

her cheek on his chest.
    â€œWakey, wakey,” he teased gently. “We’re on the ground.”
    â€œWhere?” she asked, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy child.
    â€œMiami.”
    â€œOh. At the airport.”
    He chuckled. “ An airport,” he corrected. “But this one isn’t on any map.”
    He lifted her gently back into her own seat and got to his feet, stretching hugely. He grinned down at her. “Come on, pilgrim. We’ve got a lot to do, and not much time.”
    She let him lead her off the plane. The other men had all preceded them, leaving behind automatic weapons, pistols and other paraphernalia.
    â€œAren’t you forgetting your equipment?” she asked Micah.
    He smiled and put a long finger against her mouth. His eyes were full of mischief. He’d never joked with her, not in all the years they’d known each other.
    â€œIt isn’t ours,” he said in a stage whisper. “And see that building, and those guys coming out of it?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNo,” he corrected. “There’s no building, and those guys don’t exist. All of this is a figment of your imagination, especially the airplane.” “My gosh!” she exclaimed with wide eyes. “We’re working for the CIA?”
    He burst out laughing. “Don’t even ask me who they are. I swore I’d never tell. And I never will. Now let’s go, before they get here.”
    He and the others moved rapidly toward a big sport utility vehicle sitting just off the apron where they’d left the plane.
    â€œAre you sure you cleared this with, uh—” Peter gave a quick glance at Callie “—the man who runs this place?”
    â€œEb did,” Micah told him. “But just in case, let’s get the hell out of Dodge, boys!”
    He ran for the SUV, pushing Callie along. The others broke into a run, as well, laughing as they went.
    There was a shout behind them, but it was still hanging on the air when the driver, one of the guys in the cockpit, burned rubber taking off.
    â€œHe’ll see the license plate!” Callie squeaked as she saw a suited man with a notepad looking after them.
    â€œThat’s the idea,” the young man named Peter told her with a grin. “It’s a really neat plate, too. So is this vehicle. It belongs to the local director of the—” he hesitated “—of an agency we know. We, uh, had a friend borrow it from his house last night.”
    â€œWe’ll go to prison for years!” Callie exclaimed, horrified.
    â€œNot really,” the driver said, pulling quickly into a parking spot at a local supermarket. “Everybody out.”
    Callie’s head was spinning. They got out of the SUV and intoa beige sedan sitting next to it, with keys in the ignition. She was crowded into the back with Micah and young Peter, while the two pilots, one a Hispanic and the other almost as blond as Micah, crowded Bojo on either side in the front. The driver took off at a sedate pace and pulled out into Miami traffic.
    That was when she noticed that all the men were wearing gloves. She wasn’t. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she muttered. “That’s just lovely! Everybody’s wearing gloves but me. My fingerprints will be the only ones they find, and I’ll go to prison for years. I guess you’ll all come and visit me Sundays, right?” she added accusingly.
    Micah chuckled with pure delight. “The guy who owns the SUV is a friend of Eb’s, and even though he doesn’t show it, he has a sense of humor. He’ll double up laughing when he runs your prints and realizes who had his four-wheel drive. I’ll explain it to you later. Take us straight to Dr. Candler’s office, Don,” he told the blond guy at the wheel. “You know where it is.”
    â€œYou bet, boss,” came the reply.
    â€œI’m not going to prison?”