Ishbane grunted his way to his stomach, then rolled over, breathing hard. Even from her position some ten feet away, Andee could see his exhaustion. She reeled in the rest of the rope.
“Now, let’s get Flint,” Phillips said. Andee saw perspiration trickle down the man’s face from his black hairline.
“C’mere, Ishbane.” She wanted him hooked into her anchor line. Then she’d help Nina reel in Flint. Ishbane moved over to the rock, inching his way up the scree. Andee grabbed his rope belt and snapped the sling around his waist into the carabiner before unsnapping herself.
Standing and wrapping Ishbane’s line between her legs, around her right leg, and up across her opposite shoulder, she grabbed the uphill line with her left arm, faced the mountain with the line toward Nina in the other arm, and abseiled, or rappelled, face-first downhill.
Scree spilled out before her, the snow having been scraped away by Ishbane’s descent. She reached Nina’s side, sat, and tied off Ishbane’s line into a figure eight. Then she anchored herself into Ishbane’s line with a carabiner. If they went over, they’d have Ishbane’s line holding them to the anchor of rock.
Please let this work. “We’ll pull together,” Andee said as she reached past Nina’s hands on the rope. Her worst fear would be Phillips going over in the attempt to raise Flint. The combined weight of Phillips and Flint might be too great for her equipment. “Phillips, I just want you to anchor Flint. We’ll pull!”
She planted her feet into the scree, adrenaline like heat in her veins. “Okay, pull!”
She and Nina strained on the rope. Andee ground her feet into the rock, feeling her back muscles strain. Next to her, Nina grunted. Andee gathered in the millimeter of rope, then pulled again. Another millimeter. Flint must have the weight of a buffalo. Over the edge, she heard him breathing hard. “Try and get a foothold, Flint! Help us!”
The sound of spilling rocks made her glance up, and fear coiled inside her when she saw Phillips’s foothold break off and shoot into the air. Phillips slid forward, barely catching himself against a jutting lip of rock.
Rocks spit out over the edge.
From the look on his reddened face, Phillips couldn’t hold Flint much longer.
Which meant that in about thirty seconds everyone except Mac and Sarah would fly out over the cliff.
“Pull!”
Did Emma seriously think he was going to sit here and watch them all tumble over the cliff to their deaths? Mac couldn’t believe he’d sat still this long. Maybe he’d been mesmerized by Emma’s coolheaded thinking, her attention to the rescue, in talking Ishbane up the cliff when he would have probably cut the guy loose.
Okay, maybe not. But he had little use for people who surrendered the fight at the first glimpse of pain. Then again, perhaps it depended on the kind of pain.
“Pull!” Emma cried. The panic in her voice bounced against the mountain walls and right into his soul. He glanced at Sarah—eyes closed, breathing—and made a decision.
If they all went over, he wouldn’t go with them. But he wouldn’t sit here either. He kicked a pocket into the scree, securing Sarah into the well. Then he scurried down the mountain, feet-first, toward the rock Emma had used for an anchor. Landing hard against it, he shinnied along Ishbane’s rope toward Emma and Nina.
If Phillips went over, Flint’s rope would hold him. And Mac and Nina and Emma would hold Phillips and Flint.
In theory.
“Hurry, Emma!” Phillips yelled as he moved closer to the edge. “I can’t get a good hold.”
Emma and Nina tugged together, but their progress, if any, seemed miniscule.
Mac reached the ladies, scooted between them, and gripped the rope. “All together now.”
Emma said nothing as they heaved, finally making progress. While Emma and Nina held the rope, Mac grabbed a new hold. They rolled in the slack and pulled again. Phillips grunted, still holding Flint’s weight. But as the trio hauled him farther, Phillips’s load lessened.
Flint’s hands came into view, and he gripped the rocky ledge. To his credit, he pulled himself up, resting on his forearms, breathing hard. His face dripped sweat, probably more from fear than exertion, but Mac also felt drenched.
Beside him, he saw Emma trembling.
They pulled Flint the rest of the way over the edge, and he climbed up, rolling onto his back and scooting toward them, favoring his busted knee. He lay there, still breathing hard.
Phillips backed away from the edge of the cliff and also lay on his back, breathing hard.
Emma braced her arms on her knees and shuddered.
Mac stared at the group. He’d nearly gotten them killed. He’d been so paranoid about a pipeline saboteur he’d practically herded them onto this mountainside, so they could slide off to their deaths. He felt sick and light-headed. “I’m so sorry, Emma,” he said between breaths. “I’m sorry for making us hike out.”
He couldn’t tell her why, because then she’d have to know that he’d suspected her. And after what she’d just done, he couldn’t bear to see the look of betrayal on her face.
In the span of the past fifteen minutes, he’d started to care for this petite pilot. He needed to get off this mountain and out of her airspace and fast, before she started edging in on the parameters he’d set for his life. “Maybe we should turn back,” he mumbled.
Emma looked at him, a frown creasing her face. Her breathing was still labored, and she seemed to mull over his words. “We can’t turn back.”
“Why not?” Ishbane yelled from behind them. His voice cracked, and Mac recognized fear. Well, he’d nearly become granola. Maybe Mac should cut him some slack.
“Because we’re over the hard part,” Emma said, looking past Mac to Ishbane. “Because we’re not giving up—” she paused—“I’m not giving up.”
“Me either,” Nina said. “I will see my family again.”
Mac met Phillips’s gaze, saw in his eyes determination and resolve. The resolve of a terrorist?
Mac wanted to fling himself off the cliff or at least give himself a punch in the chops. There was no terrorist here. He needed to get that through his head before he got them all killed.
“Let’s get off this shifting mountain and onto solid rock,” Mac said.
Emma’s face clouded—partly in shock, partly in realization. “You left Sarah.”
What?
His expression must have betrayed his confusion because she gave him a pay-attention look and pointed to her injured friend. “I purposely asked you to stay there so nothing would happen to her.”
“And to take care of her if you died.”
Bull’s-eye.
She gaped, and he felt some of the hot wind escape from her demeanor.
He nodded. “I know exactly what you’re up to, Emma. I know you feel responsible for us and for our safety. And especially for Sarah’s injuries. But I wasn’t going to stand back and watch while you and everyone else got dragged to your deaths.”
She stared at him, and he saw doubt in her eyes. Yes, he’d given her plenty of reason to believe that Stirling McRae thought only of his higher—private—agenda. But the fact she’d believed that he didn’t care . . . well, he’d never been that big of a jerk. At least not to his knowledge.
He lowered his voice, his eyes still on hers, hoping every word resonated. “I’m not hiking out of these mountains without you.”
She swallowed and edged up her chin, but in her eyes— past the courage and the hard-edged refusal to let fear gulp her whole—he thought he saw a flickering of relief.
“Where is your contact?”
Constantine’s voice tugged Gerard from the precious blanket of sleep that had soothed his wounds and the worry that gnawed at him. Late-morning sunlight seeped through the windows of the cabin, eating at the chill. Constantine and Juan had stoked the fire before securing his bonds. They’d left Gerard gagged and crumpled in the corner of the cabin, where his mind whirred, concocting escape scenarios until exhauste
d, he’d slumped over, out cold.
Gerard’s face felt scraped and bruised against the wood-planked floor as he closed his eyes, hoping his captors hadn’t seen him stir.
“Your contact should have checked in by now or at least turned on the GPS signal.” Constantine’s voice held impatience and a hint of disgust.
“Something’s wrong, but my partner knows what to do.” Juan walked over to Gerard. He felt Juan standing above him and braced himself for a kick to the face or the gut. “Maybe we should take a peek from the air. See if they went down.”
“MacLeod will crash the plane with both of us in it if we don’t have his daughter.” Constantine’s voice dropped to a low growl. “He’s been waiting years for a chance to go out in glory.”
Gerard kept his face expressionless, but it goaded him how close to the truth Constantine hit. For too many years after Mary and Andee had left, he’d taken the FBI jobs on the edge, the ones with high risk and low percentage of success. If only his colleagues at the bureau really knew what had driven him and his reputation, maybe they would have forced him to retire much sooner. Maybe change his name, his identity. He would have become someone different. An insurance salesman or a carpenter. Someone who lived a simpler life, one without people shooting at him or his loved ones.
He would have found Mary and stuck around until she believed his apology. And someday he would have driven that haunted, sad look from Andee’s eyes. Instead he’d hidden his pain, his regret, and in the end had only caused more.
“She probably crashed into the side of a mountain.” Constantine pushed back his chair, the sound grating against the floor. “Always trying to keep up with her old man.”
No, Andee so far out-passed him. Even as a child, she’d amazed him. Like the time he’d guided Andee through a dead-stick landing at Anaktuvuk Pass. She’d been sixteen, so pretty, so ready to embrace life. She’d been copiloting for years, but when he finally handed her the controls, it felt as if he’d taken out a piece of his heart and tied it to the propeller.
His palms had sweat as he’d clutched his knees, and he felt her fear as she had eased the plane down, glancing at him for rescue. It took all his strength not to reach out and seize the controls. He’d gauged their altitude, judging the moment when he would take the yoke and land them safely. But he knew that she needed to learn to trust her instincts and her abilities, so he had fought his impulses.
She hadn’t disappointed. Rather, he’d never felt so proud of her in his entire life as when they’d touched down on the runway. However, he bore the weight that she probably didn’t see the lesson the same way. He’d disappointed her in so many ways it nearly crippled him.
“We’ll just have to wait. At least another twenty-four hours.” Juan walked away.
Gerard breathed a sigh of relief through his aching ribs. Don’t come home, Andee. How it hurt to wish those words— again—for his only daughter.
Chapter 9
“I’M NOT HIKING out of these mountains without you.” Mac’s words resonated in her mind as Andee cooked supper on the stove in front of their makeshift shelters. She didn’t know why, but for the first time since the crash she didn’t feel quite so alone. Yes, she knew God had been with them—from the miraculous fact that they hadn’t all been torn apart in the crash to the strength God had given them to pull Ishbane and Flint up the cliff today. But feeling that she suddenly had an equal on her side, helping her lead the passengers to safety, ministered to a barren place within her.
Who would have believed that God would give her a stubborn Scot to help her? Even though Mac had left Sarah when she’d told him not to, he had put his own life in danger when he’d skidded down that mountain to help her pull up Flint. Andee knew they’d all be a pile of broken bones tonight if he hadn’t stepped in with his more-than-ample muscles.
It had taken them twice as long to descend the scree hill after they’d recovered. Flint, aided by Phillips and Nina, descended as a trio, belayed together. Ishbane was next, and Andee had to give the man credit for facing his fears. Mac followed, cradling Sarah in his strong arms. Andee’s heart gave out just a little at that. Andee came last, unbelayed, rolling up the rope, knowing that they’d need it for crossing the Granite River.
They camped at the base of the mountain, the light having dissolved quickly during their descent. Andee had showed them how to secure the tarp at an angle into the hill and separated it into two, so the men could sleep in one and the ladies in the other. She’d fastened the tarp low to the ground with basketball-sized boulders around the edges. The tarp would protect them from the frigid wind that rushed up the mountain. Andee counted on their body heat to keep the temperature above hypothermic levels. She’d made the passengers layer their clothes before they’d left the wreckage, which would help them live through the night.
She stirred the soup, knowing that tomorrow their rations would have to be cut in half. Half a PowerBar. Half the soup. Half a cup of coffee for breakfast.
And twice as far to go.
Sarah lay in quiet repose, breathing steadily, her heart rate normal, her body caught in slumber. She’d nearly opened her eyes earlier, groaning and murmuring when Andee helped Mac set her down, but when Andee tried to rouse her, sleep reached out and tugged her back.
Andee should leave them, go for help. The fact that Sarah hadn’t awoken scared her nearly breathless. She could make it—she knew it. She could take the flashlight, find the Granite River, follow it to Disaster like she’d planned.
She could be home by sundown tomorrow. Maybe.
In the meantime, Phillips could go for water, leaving the rest—namely Mac—to watch over Sarah.
After Andee poured the soup, she passed it around to the passengers seated around the darkened campsite. Few spoke, wrung out by exhaustion. Ishbane took his soup, greedily slurping it. Andee had surrendered her emergency blanket to him, knowing that he’d perish in the night with the cold. She’d snuggle next to Sarah. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d sleep much.
Another good reason to leave tonight.
She put out the stove, and the night chased away the light. Stars winked at her, spilled out over the heavens like icicles. The wind whipped over the tarp, flapping the edges. Andee tucked her hands into her armpits, thankful she had her layers of silk long johns, fleece pullovers, and wool pants.
“I could go for a steak with fried taters and collards,” said Flint. The big man hadn’t complained once today, despite his brush with death.
“Or a big bowl of yellow curried chicken with honey and green onions and rice,” Ishbane said.
Andee couldn’t help but smile. Team Hope occasionally played this game when they were out overnight. Micah liked grits, Conner wanted flapjacks, Sarah loved pierogi from a deli near her apartment in Queens, and Dani would give her eyeteeth for hot buttered popcorn. It made Andee miss them all with an ache that went to the center of her body. She wondered if anyone would call her on her birthday and discover her missing.
“How about a stack of pancakes with pure maple syrup,” Phillips added. “My mom’s version of a Sunday night meal.”
“My mother made haggis on Sundays,” Mac said quietly. “Every Sunday after church we’d come home to haggis and stovies. Her nod toward our family traditions from the old country.”
Andee glanced at Mac, detecting the change in him since yesterday. The outline of his face in the darkness spoke of strength. He sat with his back against a boulder, one leg drawn up, holding his Sierra cup in one hand.
“My mother made haggis once.” Andee made a face.
Mac laughed, low and strong, and it warmed her. She saw Mac in her thoughts, how he’d been as they’d erected the shelter. Quiet, as if shaken by the day’s events, he’d worked with precision as the night closed in. Wide back, strong arms, his eyes occasionally running over her, as if he too knew that for a moment he’d soothed the frightened place inside her. It made her that much more aware of the way she tingled when touched by his gaz
e.
“I wonder if they’ve figured out we crashed,” Nina said.
That statement silenced the passengers and wound its way into Andee’s thoughts. Would her father contact her mother when she didn’t show up in Disaster? Probably not. He’d assume she had taken another charter flight and probably not check on her for days. Besides, he’d always believed she could take care of herself and never let himself worry, even when she’d needed him the most. But certainly the Alaska Mountain Rescue Group would search for them. If only the plane hadn’t veered off in the wrong direction. It might take weeks for the rescuers to head west toward Foggytop, especially without the ELT working.
“How many children do you have, Nina?” Andee asked, hoping to fill the questions that lingered in the darkness.
“Three. Two boys and a girl.”
Andee imagined them with deep brown eyes and dark brown hair, like Nina. “Are they with your husband? or relatives?” “Yes. With relatives,” Nina said. But something in her voice sounded unsure. It reminded Andee of her sophomore summer of college when she’d called her mother from Fairbanks en route to visit her father. Her mother had asked her where she was, and Andee had lied.
Of course, that hadn’t stopped Mary from finding her a month later. Andee wondered if she’d known all along and couldn’t bear the showdown.
“I’m supposed to be going home today,” Ishbane said. His tone held surprise, as if normal life only existed in theory now. “My wedding anniversary is this weekend.”
Ishbane had a wife? That surprised her. Not that he shouldn’t, but she’d pegged Flint or even Phillips as married, not Ishbane. “She’ll be worried,” Andee said.
“Maybe. We’re separated.”
Andee grieved, cognizant of what those words meant, especially to a man so seemingly bereft of hope. She had the crazy urge to tell Ishbane that she’d been on the painful side of separation, watching her mother lurch through her day, feeling herself surrounded by shadow. She couldn’t help but wonder if her mother might have chosen differently if she’d been given the foresight to see what leaving would cost them. Or if her father had chased them south just once, her mother might have returned with him.
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