A warm-up to the big event.
The flames billowed to the sky, mingled with the gold sunrise dissolving the vault of gray. The fire growled and popped and heated his face, melting the snow thirty feet away, turning the ground black.
He’d barely yanked Emma out in time. His knees and elbow hurt from his racing dive into the rocks. Just think what would have happened if he hadn’t looked up from his scrutiny of the map, only yards from the shelter, and spied Emma wiggling into the plane. He’d seen the bonfire erupt, the shower of sparks, and did the math on his way to haul her from the cockpit.
They’d barely escaped being charbroiled.
Then again one less terrorist to stop.
Unless she had an accomplice. She was probably meeting people, a scenario the two-way radio he’d found seemed to suggest. A pilot with connections and history on the North Slope wouldn’t be suspected of treason—she could easily bring in supplies and deliver the goods into the hands of the saboteurs.
Especially since she’d been the one politicking to hike out. Alone. Toward Disaster and the circle on the map.
Emma turned, as if reading his thoughts, and he met her troubled look. She shrugged away from his stare as she stumbled over to the fall of rocks and leaned against them, dropping the backpack at her feet.
The slump in her shoulders and the way she closed her eyes as if defeated nearly did him in. She was a good actress. He nearly wanted to believe that she felt overwhelmed with responsibility, that she cared only about getting them all home safely just like she claimed.
She sighed, opened her eyes, and fixed her attention on the plane. The acrid smell of burning rubber, grass, oil, and paper singed the air. The thunder of the flames backdropped the silence.
“Oh no.” Ishbane clutched his blanket around his shoulders, his face ashen. “How’d it happen?” he said to Mac.
Mac didn’t know quite how to answer. “Fuel plus spark equals big bang.”
Ishbane glared at him and mustered the energy to round on Emma. “Now what? How are they going to find us?” He sank to the ground, shaking. “We’re all going to die out here. We’ll freeze and start eating each other off, and in the spring only one of us will be alive. I don’t want to die.”
Me either. But right now that wasn’t his highest priority.
“We’re not going to die,” Emma said quietly. She looked at Mac. “Because I’m going for help.”
Oh no, not again. Mac blew out a long breath. Before he could answer, however, Phillips came to life. “I agree. Let her go. I’ll go with her, help her—”
“We’ve been through this,” Mac said. “We all stay, or we all leave. We stick together.”
Nina rubbed her hands on her arms, her high cheekbones pronounced against her wool stocking cap. A long black braid snaked down her back. She appeared weary or hungry, probably both. She swallowed, as if summoning courage. “I’ll go with you, Emma.”
Oh yeah, sure. Like that was going to happen. He might as well give them back their map, make sure their two-way radio worked, and load them up with supplies. He even let out a grunt.
Oops. Apparently Emma heard that, for she approached him in fewer strides than he expected. Standing with her hands on her hips, she stared at him with that heart-shaped face, close enough for him to see the dark flecks in her brown eyes, her long eyelashes, and the angry set of her mouth. Her hair hung in dark ringlets around her face, and for a second it occurred to him that he’d label her as pretty.
And furious.
“I don’t know what your problem is, FBI, but I hope you can see our dwindling list of options here.” She flung one arm out in the direction of the fire. “We could hope that some pilot is out early this morning, hunting for us, and he’ll see the signature in the sky. But our fire is going to puff out in a couple of hours at the most, and, sadly, Mr. Ishbane is correct. Our ELT was in my plane. So unless you have psychic powers or can make a snowball into a crystal ball, my legs are the only things getting us off this mountain.”
He felt his traitorous mouth curling in a smile.
Her jaw dropped. However, she recovered quickly. “Nina, Phillips, c’mere. I need to leave you some instructions.” She headed toward the shelter.
“Stop, Emma.”
She ignored him.
Mac stalked past a shivering Ishbane and caught her arm.
She whirled and he took a step back, not sure which sparks might be more dangerous. Tears formed in her eyes. “My best friend is seriously injured. She could be dying. There is no way I’m not going for help, even if I have to shoot you to get by you. So unless you want to be in there next to Flint and Sarah, nursing your own wounds, get out of my way.”
For such a petite person, she could command rapt attention. Mac couldn’t take his gaze off her, hypnotized by the flash of determination in her eyes and her words. Shoot him? That wasn’t a terrorist talking, was it? Nina and Phillips froze, staring at them. Only the sound of the wind whipping the shelter flap broke the silence.
“We’ll all go together then,” Mac said.
He could nearly see Emma forming a response, but he didn’t wait to hear it. Instead he put every ounce of FBI training into his expression and lowered his tone. “I’m not arguing with you anymore. You’re not leaving here, Pilot. Not alone. You and I will take care of Sarah, Phillips and Nina will carry Flint, and Ishbane will carry supplies. But you’re not going alone. That’s final.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he could see her tremble, probably from anger. But he hoped she heard his words and his warning between the lines.
Just in case she didn’t . . . “You’re the only one with medical skills and knowledge of the terrain. If you leave and don’t make it, we’re all dead. As it is, if your friend wakes up or gets worse, not one of us would know what to do.” He left out the part that said except me. While he hadn’t had much training beyond first responder, he did know the basics of patient trauma stabilization and CPR. He also had done enough time in the bush to survive a hike out. But she didn’t have to know any of that.
Emma stood there, breathing hard, her mouth a tight line of disagreement. She looked fierce, even resilient. Then the wind carried the scent of smoke to him, and for a moment he remembered the explosion and how Emma had felt in his arms. Like if he let her, she might fit there.
Maybe he’d hit the ground just a little harder than he’d realized.
He pushed that thought out of his mind. Just because she forced him to respect her a little didn’t mean he should start trusting her. Start wanting to see her smile.
Besides he couldn’t trust anyone but himself.
Chapter 6
GERARD MACLEOD WATCHED as Constantine Rubinov— convicted drug lord, murderer, and man with a slate to clean— paced the wood-planked floor of his cabin, jittery. Angry.
Gerard couldn’t believe that after all these years the justice system had actually let him out. Or that he’d let down his guard. In his worst nightmares, Gerard woke to exactly yesterday’s events—two thugs working him over and trussing him up like a piece of venison sausage. He should have guessed that Constantine would make good on his threats. Gerard mentally cursed his stupidity. Apparently, he’d been wrong to assume that he and Andee were out of danger.
Thankfully, the former drug lord and his dark-haired, foreign-sounding accomplice who sprawled on Gerard’s sofa seemed to have a secondary agenda . . . something that had kept Constantine from gutting Gerard the first second he’d had him pinned. Gerard guessed it had something to do with the silent radio at which Constantine and his cohort kept swearing.
The first rays of light spilled into the window, dingy predawn that matched Gerard’s fading hopes. Please, Andee, don’t come home today! When she didn’t appear on his doorstep last night, his relief nearly weakened him. But with the weather, she’d likely put down some place overnight. Which meant that she was just as likely to show up today.
There were moments when Gerard wished he hadn’t fol
lowed his informant’s tip so long ago and caught Constantine transporting one hundred kilos of marijuana. Of course he’d also found the source—the family farm just north of Fairbanks, tucked deep into the bush, where they thought no one would look. Gerard had helped put away Constantine, his brother, and their mother. A real family affair.
At the time, Gerard hadn’t known just how far the “family” had extended or that he’d sparked the anger of the extended relatives in the Lower 48. Only after two of his partners had been executed and their families tortured did Gerard realize exactly how far the family long arm of revenge reached. Despite his best efforts to hide them, his family could be next. Gerard had been forced to make the first of his many painful choices— sending away his beautiful daughter and his beloved wife. A choice his wife, Mary, approved of after discovering his clandestine profession. Another of his grand mistakes—keeping secrets from his wife. After so many years when he finally thought he was in the clear, he couldn’t bear the thought that Andee might end up dead.
Please, don’t come home, honey.
Constantine glanced at Gerard, looking just as happy to slit his throat now as he had been twenty years ago. Except for the man Constantine called Juan, Gerard felt sure he’d be a corpse for his daughter to find. That would be a fine welcome or good-bye. Maybe a more fitting one than the cryptic farewells he’d given her most of her life.
Choices. He hated how his had destroyed so much.
Gerard stretched his legs out along the floor, feeling them cramp. Lean, yet broad shouldered and fit, with long dark hair and eyes that some said could zero right through a man, he’d cultivated a reputation in the FBI, one he’d hoped would deter moments like this one. Moments when his past caught up with him.
He strained to hear the conversation between the two men. Constantine’s agenda he understood. Vengeance. But what was Juan’s game plan?
Constantine walked over to Gerard, crouched before him, holding a 9 mm Springfield pistol. He waved it at Gerard, who clenched his jaw, refusing to flinch despite the close encounter he’d had with the weapon earlier.
“When Juan told me to find an expendable pilot, I told him that I knew the right man for the job.”
“I’m not flying you anywhere.”
Constantine gave him a wolfish smile. “Oh yes you are if you want your daughter to live.” He shrugged. “Of course, we can have it your way too. In my wildest dreams I do to her what you did to Leo.”
“I didn’t touch your brother.”
Constantine ran the gun across Gerard’s cheek, lowered his voice. His eyes glittered. “I can still see Leo, every inch of his body purpled by the beatings he got in prison.” He shoved the barrel of the gun against Gerard’s Adam’s apple. “You remember my brother, don’t you, MacLeod? Eighteen. Small. Easy prey.”
Grief flickered ever so briefly in Constantine’s eyes. “The day he died, I vowed that you’d pay. That you’d suffer, just like I did. Like my mother did. That you’d watch your daughter die slowly.” When he smiled, Gerard noticed a gap where an incisor had been. “And no one will even notice. Millions of gallons of liquid gold spoiling the Yukon River and draining Alaska of her piggy bank will divert the attention away from the disappearance of a backwoods pilot and his daughter—don’t you think?”
“Shut up, man.” Juan strode across the room and grabbed Constantine by the back of his jacket, pulling him to his feet.
Gerard had watched the man leave after dusk last night, carrying a duffel bag, then listened to the motor of his four-wheeler evaporate through the trees. Juan returned right before dawn and had slept most of the day on the sofa.
Gerard had conjured up about every scenario he could and had solidified on one: terrorists sabotaging the pipeline. Now Constantine’s words and Juan’s glare confirmed it.
Gerard had spent enough time at the bureau to know the dangers. If they’d found those places that hadn’t yet been refortified in the system’s overhaul, weaknesses in the center that would do the most damage, they could cost America millions of dollars in resources and cleanup. It would even affect the war on terror, paralyzing equipment. In Vietnam he’d experienced firsthand what it meant to paralyze an army by cutting off supplies and support at home.
Righteous anger fired inside Gerard. This wasn’t just about him and Andee. It was about his country. The one he’d served his entire life.
He’d fly them all to their deaths before he’d betray his country, unless . . . he shot a look at Constantine. The man stared at him, a smile on his face that turned Gerard’s stomach. Andee. They’d use her to get him to fly them somewhere. And if he refused, they had his daughter as a backup pilot.
Please, Andee, don’t come here.
“Why don’t you just take my plane? Go. Do whatever you’re going to do.”
Constantine shook his head. “But don’t you see, Gerard? You’re our foolproof plan. You’re our ticket out of Alaska. The FBI won’t suspect that one of their own men might be ferrying terrorists, would they? You’ll be our cover, and no one will even know that we were here visiting. You’ll simply fly us south, and when we’re far enough away, we’ll drop off your pretty daughter on some remote, safe landing strip. And you’ll fly us to a happy ending.”
Gerard knew he didn’t have any sort of happy ending awaiting him, but he didn’t care as long as Andee lived.
“Shut up, Rubinov,” Juan said as he flopped back onto the sofa. Dark stubble covered his chin. Except for his dingy green army coat, he was dressed like the miners and trappers in these parts—wool hat, wool-insulated pants, insulated bunny boots.
“Anything?” Juan asked, nodding toward the two-way radio Constantine picked up. Constantine sighed and shook his head.
Gerard stifled a smile, realizing that the static meant something had gone terribly wrong. Even he knew that TAPS security checked the line every week in progressive rounds. He could practically hear the tick of the clock counting down the hours until they found Juan’s explosives.
“Don’t worry,” Juan said. “You do your part; we’ll do ours.”
Constantine looked at Gerard and smiled.
“Like I said last night and according to my calculations today, we landed here, right past Foggytop Mountain in this valley.”
Andee sat in the shelter, running her finger over the aerial map she’d spread on her lap. She spoke between ground teeth, her best attempt at acceptance of Mac’s coup. His FBI status meant diddly out here in the woods, and she was already kicking herself for giving in to him.
But in truth, he’d scared her. Behind those fixed, intense eyes, she saw something lurking—something that resembled an unspoken agenda. A look that seemed too painfully familiar to the ones lurking behind the eyes of her Green Beret pals Jim Micah and Conner Young.
Stirling McRae was up to something. The feeling had her every hair standing on end. Especially when she’d threatened to shoot him and he almost smirked.
Not that she would have, of course. But the fact that she hadn’t even made him pause told her that she’d have a battle on her hands. She deserved some respect for her time spent in the bush, and she wasn’t going to let an arrogant Scot run over her, even if he was FBI.
Besides, the Glock wasn’t even loaded. She kept it mostly for an emergency, like getting caught in the woods between a grizzly sow and her cubs. But the .40 caliber 27-model pistol could hiccup a bear’s attack and do serious damage to a man, so she kept the bullets separate from the gun unless absolutely necessary.
She didn’t really consider shooting Mac to be absolutely necessary. Yet.
The truth was, she wanted to trust him. To believe his bullheadedness was more about getting them all to safety than about his heritage or shield. And the fact that he’d pulled her out of the airplane and saved her life, well, that counted. She shook off the idea of being in his arms as he protected her; the way, for a moment, she felt not alone, not overwhelmed, not so deeply afraid that she might shatter.
Until
, that is, she saw his expression and he began his fresh crusade to undermine her leadership.
And then, right in the middle of his mutiny, he’d offered to carry Sarah. His words had bit into her anger, deflated it. The idea of leaving her friend alone, without a soul with medical training made Andee feel weak. Maybe hiking out with everyone meant they’d all live.
Or die.
Clearly there were no easy choices.
“Survival protocol says to always stay with the plane,” she told Mac. “Even if it is only smoldering remains, we have shelter, and overhead searchers have a much better chance of spotting a downed plane than a clump of wounded trekkers.” She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefingers. “However, it’s getting colder, and in two days our food supply will be gone. Add to that the threat of hypothermia, and at this altitude, fluid in our lungs or altitude sickness. We might not be able to travel in a few days if they don’t find us.”
She surveyed the group, saw their worried expressions, and tried to inject calm into her words. “I guesstimate we could make it in two days if we push hard.” She swallowed, hating the next part. “Here’s the bottom line. My gut says in two days of waiting, we’d have to start walking out anyway without food and possibly with life-threatening sickness.”
Flint seemed to follow her line of thinking. “So you’re saying if we go, we go now. We’re our best chance of gettin’ off this mountain.”
Andee nodded. “That’s where we’re at. But we have to leave before another storm blows in.” The clouds seemed to gather in the spiral of black smoke, and her best instincts told her they’d need to get out of this bowl to lower elevation, find shelter, and build a campfire. Soon.
“What if we stay?” Ishbane said.
“What if no one picked up the ELT transmission? We could be here until we freeze or starve. Or eat each other,” Nina said, quirking a small, tremulous smile at Andee.
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