Cover Me

by Catherine Mann

  Brett eased back on the throttle, the boat slowed, and her heart sped.

  Not yet, not yet.

  She needed more time. Misty, Wade, the authorities needed more time. Damn it all, she wanted more time with Wade, another chance. She tucked her hand inside her parka to touch the survival knife, strapped to her waist.

  One-on-one odds in a fight, she could handle. But three against one was beyond hopeless. The best she could do was stay alive long enough. If they threw her overboard, she would be unconscious in thirty seconds, dead in ninety. Without some kind of protective clothing, she couldn’t survive in the freezing waters.

  The boat drifted past a small iceberg, swirling turquoise streaks through the black Alaska waters.

  Brett turned from the helm to the others behind him, his face paler where his beard had once been. He was frighteningly normal looking. “This hasn’t gone quite as we planned.”

  His hand slid from his pocket, holding a gun.

  Her hand clenched tighter around the knife handle as her mind raced for ideas, for anything, but she couldn’t see a way. Her mind filled with images of Wade.

  Before she could finish registering that the Beretta had a silencer lengthening the barrel…

  Hiss. A bullet ripped through the air. Bracing, Sunny stifled the urge to scream.

  Ryker crumpled against the railing, his eyes wide with shock—and lifelessness. His body toppled over and into the water as Astrid’s scream filled the air.

  Screw inaction. She wanted that gun. She whipped around—

  Brett’s Beretta hissed again.

  Astrid jerked, stumbled, then slumped over a seat, the back of her skull covered in blood. Her sister-in-law went limp, so horribly dead, as the weapon tumbled from her limp grip.

  Sunny lunged for the gun. A revolver beat a knife, hands down, and this was a fight-to-the-death moment. But Brett scooped it a second ahead of her. Frustration, fear, rage all howled through her in a typhoon of emotions. How could the world just continue to spin so normally in the distance, unaware? Houses on the far shore with families. A news helicopter overhead in search of a story for the 6:00 p.m. news, but flying obliviously past the horror happening here.

  “Why are you doing this?” she screamed at him, the boat rocking beneath her feet as she stared down the murderer. “Why did you have to kill them?”

  The bastard stood still as an ice sculpture, emotionless after having snuffed out two lives with no explanation. So much for Astrid’s faith in her “partner.”

  “Count yourself lucky that I chose you for my hostage, my insurance.” He tapped under her chin with the lengthy barrel before backing up a step and pocketing Astrid’s weapon. “I’m big on having insurance. Accomplices don’t hold much weight with the authorities when it comes to hostage negotiation. Now, get yourself under control and maybe you’ll be able to walk away from this alive.”

  At least he was talking instead of driving, killing time instead of people. “How could you just murder them?”

  She struggled against distracting thoughts of the two people who’d just been murdered, the mother of her nephew, the young man who’d made them grin with his outlandish conspiracy theories.

  Wind whipped past her ears, bringing tears to her eyes.

  “Who are you to judge me?” he sneered, grabbing the back of Astrid’s jacket, hauling her up, then flinging her overboard as if she were nothing more than a piece of trash rather than a human being. “You helped your brother hide out for years even though he turned his back on his country.”

  “What do you know about my brother?” Please, no more betrayals today. Still, she had to know.

  “I know your brother wasn’t man enough to see what was going on right under his nose with his wife. He thought he could sit up there on that mountain and avoid the rest of the world forever. He still does, poor idiot.”

  And with those few words he’d put to rest her fears that her brother might be involved, in spite of what Astrid had said. Sunny wouldn’t have covered for him, not on something like this. Maybe not at all, anymore.

  “Do you think it’s better to mow down innocent people, disposing of their bodies on a mountain and in the sea?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Keep that up and damn straight you won’t be arguing with me because you’ll be dead. If that damn deputy had done his job right you would be taken care of already, just like he took care of your friends on the mountain. I have that kind of power you know—to decide who lives and dies. Which makes me wonder why you would risk pissing me off.” His eyes narrowed, his Beretta raising back to point dead center at her head.

  The feel of cold steel pressed against her skin was an effective reminder of her need to stay calm in the face of hearing how coldly he’d ordered Deputy Smith to execute so many of her friends. To execute her. She needed to think, to stall.

  “Wait!” she rushed, wind tearing through her hair much as the fear ripped through her body. Help—Wade—had to be close. “You’re right. You do need a hostage in case they come looking for you. So where are we going? You can’t expect to get away in this boat. The gas will run out.”

  Heartbeat tumbling over itself, she was running on adrenaline. Icy waves lashed at the sides of the craft. The backs of her legs pressed against the leather seats behind the captain’s chair.

  He lowered the gun from her head. “Have you forgotten already that I’m a pilot as well? Now that I’ve picked up some important data from the plant”—he toe-tapped a slim briefcase under his seat—“I can fly out of here. The people I work for? Well, let’s just say I have some names and records that are very valuable to them. This is my ticket to a lot of money once I land at my final destination on the other side of the Bering Sea.”

  Names? Of people involved in the bombing plot? Did he intend to blackmail them? And why would that be valuable to him in Russia? But he made it sound like there was someone higher up the chain.

  “How do you intend to get rich off bombing power plants?” She inched her hand back into her parka as if warming herself, all the while listening for the sound of another boat or any sign of help from the shore. Her fingers brushed the handle of the knife. Ready.

  “Oh you rustic little bumpkin, just like your two friends there. They were all too willing to help me out, imagining I was every bit as dedicated to their cause as they were. This is so much bigger than that. Now sit back down, right here where I can keep my eye on you. Be a good girl or you’ll be swimming with your friends.”

  She dropped into the seat beside him, for now her will to live strong, but her legs still not all that steady. The murderous bastard eased the boat out of idle, and they surged ahead. Sea spray needling the air again, he steered around small icebergs littering their path.

  The magnitude of what she faced threatened to overwhelm her. This man was certifiably evil. Her fingers slid around the knife handle again and this time she wouldn’t let go, even for an instant. She had lost any hope that he would let her live, and the farther away they went, the less chance Wade had of saving her. The Bering Sea, the islands, the mountains, all provided vast wastelands in which to dump her body.

  No damn way. She wasn’t giving up on life. She wasn’t giving up on a future, a future with Wade, her rock-headed, stubborn, honorable lover. The only man ever to move her all the way to the core of her being. She wanted his body. She admired his integrity.

  And just flat out loved Wade, the man.

  The nose of the hull smacked a wave, hard, yanking her from her thoughts and jerking Brett’s gun hand for an instant. All the opportunity she needed.

  Sunny whipped her hand free, blade reflecting the sun’s rays. She jabbed upward into the bastard’s gut. He stumbled from the steering wheel, the boat screaming forward through the waves. The heated gust of Brett’s shocked “Oomph” washed over her face. His mouth moved soundlessly, a trickle of blood sliding from the corner of his mouth. The gun fell from his slack hand…

  Just as the boat rammed into a
n iceberg.

  Chapter 19

  In the back of the MH-60 Pave Hawk, Wade yanked on his antiexposure suit. Watertight rubber, it resembled the type skin divers used, but cinched in around the neck and feet. He pulled his focus in as tight as the seals on his suit, trying his damnedest to lose himself in training and routine.

  Because if he let himself think about Sunny out there with terrorist bombers, with murderers, he would lose his mind.

  To his right, Franco tugged on his gear. Out the open side hatch, his other four team members stood on the concrete landing pad by the power plant. It was agreed they would stay behind in case they were needed for triage in the event of an explosion. The bomb had been defused but the bomb squad still hadn’t finished inspecting the entire building. Lasky and the FBI wanted the kidnappers alive for information.

  Wade just wanted Sunny.

  Thank God for the MH-60 in the lot and years of training at their fingertips. They were in the chopper and ready to lift off in under five minutes. The door closed, sealing him into a dimly lit cocoon of wires and gear, mustiness of old equipment drenched in the fumes from hydraulic fluid. He welcomed the familiar in a day turned upside down.

  He shot a quick glance at Franco, suited up now as were the two pilots. Those suits were crucial gear when flying over the life-sapping cold waters of the Bering Sea. Without the suits, someone in the water would be dead within just a couple of minutes.

  Sunny would be dead.

  Never had the speed of his mission been more important.

  “Ready in front. How’re we doing in back?” crackled over Wade’s helmet.

  Franco nodded, eyes a little crazier today than normal, but Wade welcomed that edginess now more than ever.

  He shot a thumbs-up to the pilots and replied, “Ready in back.”

  The pilots turned their attention to starting engines, running a checklist in a professional call-and-response manner that always seemed to bring Wade into the zone. The singsong of the pilots focused him in on the mission ahead. Finally the rotors began to turn, the grinding whine growing louder, faster.

  The copilot called for clearance to take off and track down the fleeing fishing boat. The chopper rotors whomp, whomp, whomped overhead in a deafening drumbeat as they flew out over the icy bay. Wind roared beyond the open side hatch, snow flurries picking up speed, a storm brewing.

  The chopper banked hard and fast, flying balls-out toward the open bay. With the boat hauling ass, they could be out in the Bering Sea all too soon. The Coast Guard had been alerted, but would be at least five minutes behind them in responding. Minutes were everything in this climate.

  He and Franco were Sunny’s best chance of coming out alive.

  The copilot began tweaking the radar to spot boats. “I would say that we look for a boat going mach-snot and perform a close flyby to see if we can identify it. But extra eyes are welcome.”

  Wade didn’t need to be told that one twice. He sensed Franco sliding into place as well. They’d worked as a team for so long, he didn’t even need to check.

  “Moving over twenty-five knots.” The copilot’s voice piped low and calm over the air waves. His New England accent growing thicker betrayed the only sign of any nerves. “Let’s give him a look-see first. Come thirty degrees right, target is about three minutes out.”

  Less time than a damn commercial break, but in waters like these, that was more than enough time to freeze to death.

  Wade craned his neck to search out the starboard-door window. He kept his eyes trained on a speck speeding away in the distance, weaving a reckless hell-bent path around floating segments of ice, some bigger than the boat itself. Hand locked around a handle bolted by the door, he got the okay to open the hatch and swung out farther into the whipping wind for a better look. God, why had he been such a jackass to waste time with her, fighting? It wasn’t as if he’d accomplished a damn thing. He wasn’t going to change her. In fact, he’d only succeeded in pushing her away from him when, if anything, they should have been sticking closer together.

  But then the last thing she’d wanted was his protection. Well, after this, he couldn’t imagine letting her out of his sight. Which would be damn tricky once he was in Afghanistan.

  Shit.

  Clear the brain of distracting thoughts. Focus on the mission.

  His headset hummed to life. “Target in the camera,” the copilot barked. “Target in the camera. I have our boat in sight. And—what the hell? It’s not moving.”

  The implications of “not moving” were like a sledgehammer on Wade’s back.

  Swinging back into the chopper, Wade launched himself through the hold and behind the pilots. Eyes narrowing, he scoured the radar display, scrambling for every detail he could find, anything that would help him haul Sunny out of this alive.

  He braced his hands hard against the pilots’ seats to keep from shaking. He watched the radar, desperate for any sign of life on that boat. The airwaves went silent, the helicopter flying closer, the image growing clearer, larger, as they neared.

  Movement. “There!”

  Wade pointed, refusing to believe he could be mistaken. Again, he caught the hint of motion as a person rolled to their knees on the deck, slowly uncurling and standing. Alive.

  He looked up through the windscreen as they neared, his view of her clearer. Long dark hair streaked behind the woman. Sunny. It had to be her. Relief nearly took out his knees until he straightened with the infusion of a new sense of purpose because he would save her.

  Hang tough. He willed her to hear his thoughts as he charged back into the belly of the chopper, to the open hatch. He would winch down into the boat in another two minutes, tops. If she could just hold on, he and Franco would be there.

  As he looked down, she staggered toward the rail of the boat and his gut lurched. No, no, no. If she went in the water she would be dead before the helicopter could get close enough for him to go in after her.

  The boat listed left. Sharply. She stumbled again, her feet splashing in pooling water inside the craft.

  “Holy shit,” he shouted into his headset. “It’s sinking. We need to get there now.”

  Planting his feet on deck, he gripped the handle, leaning farther from the chopper, snow stinging his face. He willed the aircraft to fly faster.

  The fishing vessel was taking on water fast, sunlight glinting off the ripples gushing into the craft. Sunny grappled along the rail, her arms flailing toward something he couldn’t make out.

  She jumped up and he held his breath, certain she would go tumbling overboard. Her hand connected and she yanked.

  A burst of yellow shot away from the boat, a life raft inflating and settling onto the choppy sea. Good God, she was saving herself. She was getting away from the boat and whoever else was on board.

  Sunny leaped from the edge, airborne for what felt like an eternity as he watched the life raft tossed about on the churning waves. She landed in the raft, tumbling against the side and almost pitching over. She held fast.

  Relief raced through him again along with a ridiculous hint of pride in her fast thinking. God, she was an amazing, strong woman. She wasn’t in the sea. And most importantly, she wasn’t in the sinking boat.

  Now, rather than winching down into the sinking boat, he would drop into the water with survival gear, keep her safe from exposure or tipping until they could haul her up.

  Wade sank down onto the cabin floor and started to put on his swim fins. “Get the basket on the line. I’ll go out and get her. Franco can lower into the boat with the winch to check for any other survivors.”

  “Roger that,” the pilot answered.

  Franco keyed up the radio. “Got your back, Brick. Will clear the boat.”

  The helicopter began a slow turnaround, nearing the drop site. Sunny waved, clutching with her other hand as the raft kicked up on waves, each swell threatening to pitch her out. Rotor wash pushed the sea into higher swirls as the MH-60 hovered as close as it dared.

>   Wade pulled his goggles and snorkel on, and stepped back into the open hatch. He sat with his legs dangling out the door, put one hand over his mask, and slipped out of the helicopter. He floated through air for what always felt like the longest glide of his life until abruptly…

  Freezing water swallowed him. Actually, freezing didn’t even come close to describing the walls of ice encasing his body. Through his mask, he kept his eyes fixed on the raft above him, the tiny inflatable holding his entire world. That woman had come to mean more to him in a few days than anyone in his life. So much so, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

  Pumping his feet, he surged upward, bubbles streaming past in the murky underwater until… He burst free from the icy clamp of the underworld. He bobbed to the surface and gave a thumbs-up to the helicopter overhead.

  Slicing through the sea with stroke after stroke, his body rode waves as he swam. Needing to see her. Hear her. Hold her vibrant, alive body so he could stop the shaking inside him that had started the second he’d learned she was taken.

  His palm slapped the edge of the rubber lifeboat and he grabbed hold with his other hand as well. He peered up and found Sunny looking down at him, shivering and drenched, with her lips turning blue, but alive.

  “Wade, I can’t believe it’s you.” She grabbed his arms and tugged. “You’re here.”

  The raft lurched, nearly pitching her out, rolling water splashing her in the face. Her grip loosened, her legs sliding around on the rubber raft until she nearly tumbled into the churning ice below.

  “Let go,” he ordered, “and back to the other side of the raft so I can bring myself in.”

  If she got dumped into the water without an antiexposure suit it would be bad, beyond bad. Carefully, as if his life depended on it—and it did, since Sunny’s life was in the balance—he hefted himself into the raft. Her teeth chattering, she wrapped her arms tight around him.

  “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he said, more to reassure himself than her, wanting to hang on, rooted in the knowledge that she was alive and whole.