Expect the Sunrise

by Susan May Warren

  Mac was struck by Emma’s faith in this man who hadn’t proved it. She looked past the evidence to what she believed he had in his heart. Maybe that had been Mac’s problem. He couldn’t look past his suspicions—no, his fears—to see the truth. To see that Emma could never be a terrorist.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Mac said. “Except that when I look at you, I do feel like what I see is what I get.”

  She sighed.

  “I suppose Sarah knows the real Emma, aye?”

  Emma nodded. “She came to Alaska because tomorrow is my birthday. I was going to spend it with her and my dad.”

  “I’m sorry you’ll miss that.”

  Emma angled a look at him. “Maybe not. If we move fast we could get to Disaster by tomorrow night.”

  “Funny we haven’t seen any planes overhead. I thought that with hunting season still open—”

  “Most pilots don’t like to fly hunters in after the middle of September. Too dangerous with the weather shifts. I was only doing it because I was bringing in supplies my dad would need for the winter. If they do fly, they stay nearer to the Dalton Highway.”

  “How far is that from here?”

  “I don’t know. About five or six miles, due east.”

  “Why don’t we walk that direction then, instead of following the river?” He couldn’t deny the litmus test embedded in that question. In spite of his belief that he could trust her.

  “Because we’d still be twenty miles from the nearest town. We’d have to flag down a truck or a plane, and like I said, there isn’t much in the way of traffic this time of year, especially north of Wiseman. Hence, why I want to start an FBO. We need medical services to the North Slope.”

  He felt a gust of relief. See, he could trust her.

  “So, you’re thinking of sticking around?” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that, but somehow it felt very, very important. Enough to let the words settle between them and rustle the nerves down his spine.

  Emma looked at him, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t have enough money yet. I have a job waiting for me in Iowa. I’ll leave with Sarah. . . .” Her expression dimmed. “I hope.”

  Mac saw the tension written on her face. He could use the radio. He’d let that thought free a few times over the course of the day but now really took a good look at it. If the two-way belonged to Flint, then Mac should be able to climb the hill they’d just descended, fire it up, and even if he couldn’t raise the North Rim Outfitters hunting lodge, he might be able to scan through the channels and find . . . someone.

  He’d been selfish not to think of it sooner. To consider that saving the pipeline might be more important than saving Emma’s best friend. Only . . . was the safety of a nation worth more than one woman’s life? It felt ugly to even think it, but the question lingered, unanswered.

  “You need to get some rest.” Mac brushed Emma’s hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears. “Put on your cap; you’ll get sick.”

  She smiled at him, and it made him hurt a little with its sweetness. “Aye.” She put it on, looking out into the sky. Again he realized how pretty she was. Petite, tough, feisty, but pretty in a natural, take-his-breath-away sense that did just that.

  “I’m sorry I crumpled on you, Mac,” she said finally. “I usually don’t do that.”

  He let those words sink in, running his mind over the past two days, how she’d galvanized them all into action, teaching the others how to survive. She’d conquered any normal fears to help them all dig deep and unearth courage. He wondered just how much coping with her heartbroken parents had taught her to hold her chin up and continue on. To protect herself and keep people at a distance, in case they found her cracks.

  In fact, that was how he’d lived most of his adult life.

  “You’re a real toughie,” Mac said, “but I meant it when I said you’re not hiking out of here without me.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you—not the other way around.”

  He shook free of the inane urge to slip his hand around her neck and kiss her sweetly. “I don’t need you to look after me.”

  She shook her head in mock disgust. “Of course not.”

  He rose and held out his hand. She took it and he helped her up, catching her in his arms when she stumbled against him, then holding her away because for the first time in Mac’s life a woman had sneaked under his calluses to the soft place of his heart.

  Talk about a woman crash-landing at his feet. He sucked a calming breath. “Good night, Emma.”

  “Thanks, Mac. For listening—” she paused—“for caring.”

  He could only nod. It had been a long time—way, way too long—since anyone had said that to him.

  He watched her make her way to the shelter and disappear under the tarp that protected Sarah and Nina.

  He pulled out the two-way radio, held it in his hand for a moment, then stood and looked toward the hill that overlooked the sparkling Granite River.

  Chapter 12

  ANDEE LAY IN the quiet chill under the shelter, listening to Nina and Sarah breathe. “What you see is what you get.” She’d tried not to let Mac’s words unravel her, but thinking of his kindness and the way he’d wrapped those muscled arms around her made her feel horrible.

  She had to tell him the truth. That she’d been the pilot who’d cost his brother his life. She owed him that much after he’d . . . what? Stood by her? Helped her with Sarah? That and more.

  Mac, with his soft brogue, his listening posture, his story of his brother meant to cheer her—he’d been a friend to her.

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks. A friend? Oh, she even lied to herself. Settled inside his arms for that moment, she’d even contemplated letting him into her life. Because whether she wanted to admit it or not, she felt protected around Mac. With the wind buffeting the shelter, the cold seeping into her bones, her best friend in a near coma next to her, and ten miles to go to safety . . . she needed protection. Or instead wanted it.

  Could it be that God had looked deep into her heart and sent her not only the one person she’d be least likely to trust but whom she intrinsically needed more than anyone else? A man stubborn enough not to give up on her?

  She wondered what Micah and Conner would think of Mac if they ever met him. They’d probably like Mac—his save-the-world demeanor would be a bonding agent with her two Green Beret pals. Micah and Conner cornered the market on protectiveness, but it felt different with them. When Conner or Micah gave her a hug, it didn’t make her want to lean into his embrace. And why had Mac asked if she had a boyfriend? That felt . . . unsettling. Like a million sparks had jolted through her body.

  If only she weren’t leaving. She would be back next summer. And if Mac was still around . . .

  Her mother’s warnings replayed in her ears, almost an echo in time:

  “Gerard MacLeod, what are you doing?” Mary MacLeod’s voice could be heard through the Plexiglas windows of the airplane even before Andee cracked open the door. The wind tore at Mary’s jacket, yanked her dark hair from its braid, and wrapped it around her face. Andee felt heat radiate off her mother’s countenance and recoiled. Mary stalked toward the plane. “You let her land?”

  “She needs to learn how to take care of herself. To land a plane dead stick.” Gerard didn’t raise his voice, just kept it low and simmering. Yet his gaze never left Mary’s face.

  She grabbed Andee’s jacket, pulled her out of the plane. “You know how I feel about this. You teach her to fly and I’ll lose you both in a fiery crash.” Her eyes filled. “No. I’m not doing that, Gerard. She’s too young—you can’t treat her like one of your rookie pilots.”

  “Mary, she’s sixteen! She can do this! Besides, how will she learn to survive out here if we don’t make her—?”

  “She won’t learn.” Mary’s fist balled on Andee’s coat, burning her upper arm as she pulled Andee along.

  “Mary—,” Andee started.

>   “You hush. You know how I feel about you flying.”

  “Mary!” Gerard’s voice boomed over the runway. “Mary, come back!”

  She stopped and rounded on him, her voice cold. “I’ll get my own ride home. With Andee.” She jerked back around, glancing at Andee.

  Andee shrank under her mother’s glare but didn’t miss the tears edging her eyes.

  “He’s the worst mistake I ever made,” Mary said simply. “I hope you never make the same.”

  Now Andee rolled over on the ground, feeling the ache that had taken possession of her body. She nestled her head in her arms, listening to the night. Outside, a wolf howled a lonely song that echoed through her cold body. The river gurgled, splashing against rocks. She heard the thump of feet against rocks—probably Mac climbing into his shelter.

  Except the footsteps led away. She strained to hear. Was someone leaving? Phillips?

  She scooted to the edge of the tarp and lifted it, staring out into the night.

  Mac’s outline against the velvet of night dissolved as he walked in the direction of the hill overlooking the river.

  Her curiosity piqued, she climbed out and stole after him. Where was he going? Did he think he could hike out? He’d get lost and die. Especially since he was going in the wrong direction. Yeah, sure, he’d spent time in the bush . . .

  She stayed low, remembering Micah’s and Conner’s stories of their Green Beret days. When Mac climbed the hill and stood on top, like some highland laird surveying his land, she had to duck, blend into the landscape.

  She watched as he lifted something to his lips. And then, because the wind carried it, she heard static.

  He had a radio.

  A radio!

  She wasn’t sure what ignited first, her anger or her feet, but she closed the space between them before he could turn. She would have tackled him if she hadn’t been breathing so hard. “You have a radio?”

  So much for not keeping secrets, for trusting people. She wanted to slap him.

  He stared at her as if she might be an apparition from the depths.

  “You have a radio? What are you doing, FBI? Why didn’t you use it earlier?” She shook her head, raising her arms in exasperation. “I can’t believe it. All that talk about helping me. I cried in front of you, worried about Sarah. And you have a radio!”

  He looked stricken, just standing there staring at her, the static of the radio buzzing in the background.

  She grabbed for it. He yanked it away, taking a step back, now breathing hard. He still said nothing. She wanted to strangle him. “Well?”

  He looked at the radio, then back at her, as if realizing for the first time that he held it. “It’s not mine.”

  “Then whose is it, Mac? And why exactly does that matter? Were you afraid that one of our starving, cold passengers might be upset that you found their link to the outside world?”

  “I thought it might be yours.”

  “What?” She put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, it’s mine. And I’ve been looking all over for it—give it back!”

  He actually looked at her as if he might believe her.

  “I’m lying to you,” she said. “Do you think if I had a radio I wouldn’t have used it the first second I could? What kind of person do you think I am?”

  He cleared his throat. “You . . . the thing is, Emma, I thought someone aboard might be a terrorist. I found a map of the pipeline, with weak points in the line marked. I thought that maybe one of the passengers—”

  The air puffed out of her. “That’s why you made us stick together.” She put her hands on her head to keep it from spinning. Maybe she should sit and put her head between her knees. “You forced us to stay together because you thought someone was going to blow up the pipeline?”

  “It’s not so far-fetched,” Mac said, his voice rich with passion. “The pipeline is a vital source of energy for the U.S. Just this year we arrested two groups we believe to be saboteurs, and we have an entire department dedicated to protecting the pipeline, plus TAPS has its own security. There are a number of domestic groups—from environmental terrorists who want the oil harvesting to stop, to militants who want us to carpet bomb the Middle East and take possession of her assets—who would sacrifice their lives to blow up the line. Not to mention a dozen countries that would spend their national treasure to see America crippled financially and on her knees.

  “Take Venezuela, for example. They’re the fourth largest producer of oil, supplying America with 15 percent of her oil. But they’re aggressively seeking a bigger share of the market, making alliances with Iran, China, and Russia—all with an eye to jack up barrel prices. If the pipeline was taken out, we’d have to turn to them for help—their wildest dreams come true.”

  Andee gaped at him. “Venezuela? Okay, take me to your leader, because c’mon, Mac, listen to yourself. You sound like a CIA world report! You don’t actually believe what you’re saying, do you? We’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere—do you seriously think we’re caught in some sort of terrorist plot?” She let loose an angry snort of laughter.

  Her voice tightened as fury took over, spiking her nerves, turning her nearly inside out with frustration. “You put Sarah in danger, knowing that I could hike out and get help because you thought there might be a Venezuelan terrorist among our passengers? Who was it, Nina? She’s probably lying about those kids—no, wait, the Shamu whale she sleeps with is really a bomb.”

  He winced. “I didn’t suspect Nina.”

  Who did he think . . . ? “Me? You thought I was the terrorist?”

  Mac put his hand to his head, as if trying to lift the thought from his mind. “I know . . . I know . . . I feel sick.”

  Something about his tone made her slow, take another breath. “How could you, Mac? After everything I’ve done to take care of us. Did you think a terrorist would have a sudden change of heart, maybe a soft spot? You just might be the worst judge of character on the entire planet! Why did you think—?”

  “That’s how I’m trained to think! Because I’ve spent the last three years analyzing rap sheets and faces and scenarios, and everything about this screamed that something wasn’t right!And because I swore to protect my country, regardless of the cost.”

  “Like my best friend’s life?” Andee’s voice lowered.

  He looked away and nodded.

  She had the desperate, crazy urge to hit him really—really hard. She balled her hands into fists and turned away.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Emma. I didn’t want to deceive you. But I thought . . . well, I was wrong.”

  Until this moment, every time he’d called her Emma today had made her feel sick, like she’d deliberately lied to him.

  Now she just felt even.

  “Does the radio work?” she said coldly.

  He looked at it, as if just remembering he held it in his hands. “I got a signal and some static, but no one responded to my call. I thought maybe I could get different channels, but this is tuned to only one, and I can’t seem to change it.”

  “Maybe it was damaged in the crash.” She reached out for it. He met her eyes as he handed it over, and she saw his shame.

  Then it hit her. “You came out here because of Sarah, didn’t you? Because you’re worried about her.”

  She glimpsed the truth on his face, and suddenly much of her anger disintegrated like the fine particles of an early autumn frost at dawn.

  “I don’t want her to die, Emma. I don’t want any more people to die because of me.”

  His voice sounded so tortured that Andee closed her eyes against a wave of ache.

  “I’m such a fool.” He made a fist and pushed it against his forehead. “I’m doing it again. I can’t believe it.”

  Andee couldn’t stop herself from touching his arm. “I don’t understand.”

  He stood there, unmoving, but she thought she saw him shake his head. Then he sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Emotion fille
d his voice. “Three months ago, I was fishing with my brother when I saw—” his jaw clenched—“a terrorist. It was a guy we’d been tracking for years, part of a terrorist cell. The FBI had him under surveillance, waiting for him to reveal his contacts. I ran after him and took him down. But not before he blew a hole in the pipeline and . . . in my brother.”

  “Brody,” she said, feeling herself go weak.

  “Aye. And the worst part is we lost our link to the cell.”

  “No, the worst part is that Brody died.”

  Mac closed his mouth, pursed his lips in a grim look, and turned away.

  Lord, why didn’t I listen to his call? land on the highway?

  “You know,” Mac said, “for the longest time I thought if I could just get in the face of MacLeod, the pilot who let my brother die, and tell him what he’d done—I might have some closure.”

  Andee felt cold, right to the center of her body.

  “But I know now that it’s not about Brody or MacLeod. It’s about me. I was so consumed with being someone who might make a difference.” He shook his head as he sank down onto the hill, his knees up, head hanging. Defeated.

  Andee stood over him, feeling like she might cry. “I believe in God, but He doesn’t believe in me.” Mac’s words came back to her, and suddenly she understood.

  “I didn’t expect to change the world. But the last thing I expected was for it to crumble in my hands. Brody’s death is my fault.” He hung his head. “I’m an idiot, Emma. I’m so sorry.”

  Andee sat next to him, close enough that their shoulders touched. “You know what I think? I think you’re trying too hard. God does believe in you, Mac. That’s why you’re here with me.

  He knew that Sarah needed you.” That I needed you. “You don’t have to be a national hero to be used by God. You can simply carry Sarah’s stretcher or help haul Flint up a cliff.”