As I got closer, the blast from the propellers hit me and I had to veer away from the spinning blades. I skirted around to the front and jumped in the air, waving my arms right in front of the windscreen. “HEY!”
The pilot gawped at me through his window. What the fuck, lady?! He had one arm braced on the throttle, ready to go, and used the other arm to wave me away.
I shook my head and held up my FBI badge, using both hands so that it didn’t get blown halfway down the airfield. Then I stood there resolutely, all five-foot-two of me, and refused to get out of the way.
I saw the pilot sigh...and then his hand cranked the throttle back to idle. The blast from the propellers lessened a little and I ran to the plane’s side door.
It was already sliding open. A man in a US marshal’s uniform was leaning out, but not the one I’d seen earlier. This guy was pushing sixty, his close-cropped hair mostly silver. He was the opposite of the other marshal: he looked like he’d been chasing down criminals his entire life, mostly outdoors, his skin as weathered and tough as leather. “What in the name of all that’s holy do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.
Despite his anger, his gray eyes looked kind. “I’m sorry,” I told him, still panting from the run. “But I’ve got to get to Fairbanks, right now. I have a suspect who’s going to walk if I don’t get there.” I showed him my badge and gave him a hopeful smile.
He glanced back inside the plane. With his body blocking the door, I couldn’t see who else was in there. When he turned back to me, just for an instant, his eyes looked...scared. Which made no sense at all.
“No,” he said flatly. “This is a US marshal’s flight. No civilians.”
“I’m not a—”
“No one who doesn’t need to be there. Got prisoners on board.” He ducked back inside the plane and started to close the door.
“Please! I’ll sit in the front. The back. I’ll sit wherever you like. Just let me on board!”
He shook his head, scowling, and slid the door the rest of the way shut.
I shoved my hand in the gap and caught the door. I managed to bring it to a stop a half-inch before it would have sliced my fingers off and hauled it half open. “Please!” I begged. He gave me another shake of his head.
Then I glimpsed the young marshal, the one I’d met before, sitting on the far side of the plane. I met his eyes. “Please!”
And the young guy grinned. “C’mon, Hennessey. We can help the FBI out. There’s plenty of seats.”
The old marshal—Hennessey—snapped his head round and glared at the younger guy. But there was something wrong about it. His eyes were angry but they were also pleading. What the hell was going on? Hennessey had to be the more senior one….so why did the young guy seem to be giving the orders?
No matter. I wasn’t going to say no. I quickly climbed aboard before they changed their minds.
There were eight seats but only two of them were taken. One was occupied by Boone, his wrists and ankles now chained and the two chained together. Across the aisle from him was another prisoner, this one in a smart suit and white shirt but equally securely chained. I took one of the empty seats a few rows in front of them. The two marshals strapped themselves into folding jump seats facing us. The young one gave me a flirtatious grin. But the old one, Hennessey….
I expected him to scowl at me but I didn’t see anger in his eyes. More like frustration...and worry.
He’d looked scared, earlier. I suddenly realized he’d been scared for me.
The pilot throttled up and the plane sped down the runway, then soared into the air.
Why did I suddenly feel like I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life?
2
Kate
For two hours, I stared out of the window and watched as we flew over nothing at all.
I’d naively thought that Nome, out on the coast, was nowhere. But now, heading east across Alaska, we were plunging right into the heart of the uninhabited heartland. Nome was a freakin’ sprawling metropolis compared to this.
All I could see were mountains, forest and rivers. It was as if time had stopped a few thousand years ago: no houses, no shops, not even a road. There was a moment, about an hour in, when I looked from horizon to horizon and realized that I couldn’t see anything man-made, not even a power line, and the feeling was exactly the same as when you try to put your foot down in the swimming pool and discover you’re out of your depth.
I reluctantly slipped off my thick wool coat. It was warm enough on the plane that I didn’t need it but part of me hated to leave its comforting hug. Part of me wanted to wrap myself up in it as tightly as I could and hunker down until we got somewhere more familiar. What I really needed right now was a big, hot cup of coffee. That would make it feel more like home.
It was the knowledge that I was out of touch—completely. I live my life meshed into the FBI: emails and phone calls, text messages and Tweets, a constant flow of information that lets me know I’m part of something bigger. Without it, I felt like a fish suddenly separated from the rest of the shoal. In a very big, dark ocean.
The irony is, normally I don’t even look out of the window on planes. I hate heights and I usually spend flights studiously staring at my laptop, trying to pretend we’re still on the ground. But on this flight I had to keep my eyes on the window or I’d catch his eye. The young marshal had been staring at me almost constantly.
I knew I should talk to him and thank him for helping me get on board. I could hear my best friend, Erin, raging at me for not having already arranged a date. And I knew she was right: my last proper date had been six months ago. Most guys—the ones who even notice me in the first place—find me too hard, all stone and iron when I should be giggly and soft.
That’s what the FBI does to you. You put up armor to defend yourself, not just from the scumbags you have to deal with but from the backbiting and politics. It’s worse if you’re a woman and if you’re a small woman, trying to convince everyone you can do your job as good as them?
It starts to get difficult to let the armor down.
So when a guy like the young marshal showed interest in me, I should have been all over him. But there was something off about him. Something behind that easy, white-toothed grin and those bass-player curls. Something that made my stomach tighten. It made no sense.
And while I could ignore the young marshal, there was something I couldn’t ignore. I could feel Boone’s eyes burning into the back of my neck. And against everything that was right, his gaze sent a slow, undeniable throb soaking down through my body. I couldn’t even see him but just being in his presence had a physical effect on me. My breathing was faster; my eyes, when I looked at my reflection in the glass, were wide, my cheeks flushed. Calming myself didn’t work. Ignoring him didn’t work. He’s a criminal! What’s the matter with you? But this was primal, wired in deep. As soon as I thought of Boone, I thought of being—
Picked up and—
Pinned by his strong hands, my blouse ripped open as his lips came down on mine—
“Who’s your other prisoner?” I asked the young marshal, finally meeting his gaze. I had to get my mind off Boone before I dissolved into warm, helpless goo.
The young marshal blinked at me. “You don’t recognize him?”
I turned to look. Expensive suit. Snow-white shirt. Fancy cufflinks. His chin was shaved as smooth as a pool ball and his black hair must have been cut and styled within the last week. He was as perfectly presented as Boone was rough.
And when I caught his eye, the green eyes that gazed back at me were utterly cold, ruthlessly calculating how I could be useful to him. I didn’t let it show but I shuddered inside and turned back to the young marshal. “Nope.” I leaned a little closer so that I could whisper over the drone of the aircraft engines. “Who is he?”
The young marshal grinned, apparently enjoying my closeness. “That’s Carlton Weiss!”
Carlton.
Weiss.
&nb
sp; Everyone in America knew his name. I’d just never seen a picture, until now. He was famous for what he did, not what he looked like.
Weiss was a Wall Street fund manager. For over ten years, he’d presided over what he claimed was a unique investment system that let normal people escape the rat race. What it really amounted to was the biggest financial scam in US history. Millions of Americans, most of them in their forties and fifties, had invested billions of dollars. When the scheme was exposed, Weiss had been completely unrepentant, first relying on his lawyers to get him off and then, when that looked like it was going to fail, fleeing...along with all the money. He’d been missing for weeks and most people had assumed he was already on a tropical island somewhere.
“What the hell was he doing in Alaska?” I asked. Across the aisle, I saw Hennessey, the old marshal, stiffen. Was he annoyed that I was talking to his underling or was it something else?
“What you have to realize is, Alaska’s very close to Russia. It’s only about 50 miles away, across the Bering Strait. Out in the middle, there are even these two islands, Big and Little Diomede, and they’re less than three miles apart, but one’s Russian and one’s American. We figure Weiss did a deal with someone to smuggle him across from Nome to Russia.” He gave me another one of those big, wide grins. “Lucky for us, he got on his high horse about the fuckin—excuse me, the freakin’ wine list while he was hiding out in a hotel and one of the staff recognized him and called it in. We’re taking him to Fairbanks, then down to Seattle. He’ll be in jail by tonight.” He beamed. “I’m Allan, by the way. Allan Phillips.”
I gave him a hesitant smile. He seemed friendly, in a cocky, frat boy kind of a way. And everything he was saying sounded right...so why did it feel so wrong? Why did talking to him feel like inching my head between a crocodile’s open jaws? “Kate,” I told him. “Lydecker.” Then, to change the subject, “What about Boone? Why do the cops want him?”
Marshal Phillips shook his head. “They don’t. The military do. He got court-martialed and then escaped before they could lock him up.”
I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder at Boone’s massive, muscled form. He was about as far from my mental image of a buzz-cut solider as it was possible to get. “He’s military?”
“Former military. He’s been out in the mountains a long time.”
“What did he do?”
The marshal shrugged. “No clue. It’s probably in his file, but I didn’t get time to read it yet.” He nodded down at a couple of blue file folders tucked into the pocket beside his seat. I could just read the name on the front one: Mason Boone. “He only got put on our flight at the last minute. We’re dropping him off at Fairbanks: there’s an Air Force Base there. The military police can deal with him. Now—”—he leaned a little closer—“What’s the FBI doing all the way out here?”
That feeling of wrongness again, the gut instinct I’ve learned to trust. I unfastened my seatbelt and stood. “In a second,” I told him. “I need to stretch my legs.”
He nodded, looking disappointed, and I quickly turned and headed down the aisle towards the back of the plane, grabbing hold of seat backs each time the little plane bobbed and swayed.
As I moved away from the marshal, the anxiety ebbed away. But as I drew closer to Boone, a whole different feeling started up. He just looked so big, crammed into that tiny airline seat, his shoulders much wider than the narrow seat back. The chains were thick, heavy steel: they should have made him look small. But somehow, they only emphasized the power of that massive, rough-hewn body. So powerful, he has to be chained down. I thought of King Kong. He’d been shackled by man and had broken free….
Stupid. He was strong, yes, but even he couldn’t break out of those. I slowed as I got closer, thinking about what Marshal Phillips had said. He only comes into town once every few months. Who could live like that, barely seeing another living soul?
Boone was gazing towards the front of the plane, eyes unfocused. He must know I’m here. Was he deliberately not looking at me?
“Don’t waste your time,” said a low, nasally voice behind me.
I spun around. Weiss was staring up at me with a cold grin. The chains looked very different on him. He was tiny compared to Boone, one of those guys who manages to be skinny but soft-bellied at the same time. The chains put me in mind of a small but vicious dog. He didn’t look as if he could break free but he looked as if he might slip right out of them.
“What?” I said.
Weiss nodded towards Boone. “He’s a loon.”
I glanced at Boone again but he was still staring straight ahead. “Do you even know him?”
“C’mon.” His thin lips twisted. “What sort of person would want to live all the way out here?”
I gazed coldly back at Weiss, trying to ignore the fact that I’d been wondering much the same thing.
“Now you,” continued Weiss, “you’re a New Yorker. A city person, like me. Am I right?”
I shook my head. “I have nothing to say to you.” A little part of me was curious, though. His scam had been so big, so elaborate, that the authorities were still in shock. They couldn’t figure out how anyone had the sheer gall to pull it off.
“Gotta talk to someone.” He jerked his head towards Marshal Phillips. “The Boy Wonder isn’t doing it for you. Who’s left? The old guy? The hobo?”
I flushed, flustered and confused. This guy didn’t behave like someone headed to prison for the rest of their life. And I had some instinctive urge to defend Boone, even though he wore the same chains as Weiss. “None of them stole billions of dollars.”
“I didn’t steal it. I separated it from people who didn’t deserve it. It’s not stealing if they’re idiots.”
I gripped the seat back in front of Weiss’s so that I wasn’t tempted to hit him. “My parents lost money in your scam,” I said tightly. “Twenty-six thousand dollars.”
Weiss cocked his head to the side. God, he really was unrepentant. There wasn’t even a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “It amazes me that such stupid people could squeeze out a daughter who’d make it into the FBI. Or is there an affirmative action program for height?”
My fingers tightened on the seat back. I knew he was trying to bait me and there was no way to react that wouldn’t make it worse. But I could feel my self-control slipping: he had a way of getting right under my skin—
And then we heard the chink chink chink of a chain slowly moving.
Weiss and I looked up to see Boone twisting in his seat to look at us. More precisely, he was staring right at Weiss. And this time, those Alaska-blue eyes said stop. Stop right now or I will annihilate you.
Weiss’s expression turned sour...but he shut up. He wasn’t cowed by my badge or the presence of the marshals, but Boone’s physical presence did the trick.
I turned to my savior. “Do you need anything?” I said awkwardly. I glanced at my purse. “I don’t have much. A granola bar. A bottle of water.”
Boone lifted his eyes to look at me and I caught my breath. Immediately, it was back, a wall of heat that slammed right into me and almost knocked me off my feet. I wasn’t used to that from any man. Certainly not from a criminal. Again, it felt as if my clothes were vaporizing, his gaze sweeping over every part of me like a lover’s hands: a smooth palm caressing my naked shoulder, strong fingers squeezing my breast.... And yet he spent the most time on my face, just staring back at me in a way that made me gulp. Not just lust. A simpler need. He wanted me, but he wanted...me.
I’m wasting my time. Everyone says he doesn’t talk.
But, just as I gave up hope, his head lifted a little and his jaw worked. I thought of the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz, all rusted up. I wondered how long it was since he’d spoken.
“....water,” he rasped at last. His first two syllables, I was guessing, in a very long time. The accent made me think of the landscape beneath us: rough and hard as granite, but with the syllables smoothed by wind and rain. It had that measured pa
ce you only find a long way from a city. Then, after another few seconds, “I’d like some water. Please.”
There was an intake of breath from the front of the plane. I glanced around to see both marshals blinking in surprise. Boone must not have spoken the entire time he was in their custody.
I quickly retrieved the bottle of water from my purse, unscrewed the cap and then held it out to him. He just looked at me and then raised his wrists. He could take the bottle but the hobble chain wouldn’t let him get it anywhere near his mouth.
Swallowing, I brought the bottle to his lips. I hadn’t figured on how intimate it would feel, watching his lips part and find the neck. That full lower lip, soft and jutting above that stubbled jaw. The hard upper lip, closing around the plastic. Powerful. If those lips kissed you, you’d damn well stay kissed. He stared right at me as I tilted the bottle and the cool water flowed, the muscles of his powerful neck flexing and contracting. Gulp, gulp, gulp….
I lowered the bottle. I’d gotten lost in those eyes. Nearly half the bottle was gone. “Okay?” I asked weakly. The blood was suddenly pounding in my ears.
He nodded, eyes never leaving mine for an instant.
I had to move. If I didn’t move, something crazy was going to happen. What’s the matter with me? He’s a criminal!
I couldn’t face returning to the front of the plane and Marshal Phillips. Something about him still felt off. He felt wrong in just the same way Boone felt right...which made no sense at all.
I kept walking towards the back of the plane but there wasn’t that far I could go. A few more empty seats, then a luggage rack where the marshals had stowed their bags. I recognized the huge, dull-green army holdall Phillips had been carrying.
I turned and glanced back at the marshals. Both of them were checking their watches. Hennessey looked at Phillips, who shook his head warningly. Not yet.
What were they counting down to? We weren’t due to land anytime soon. I checked the window but there was nothing outside even remotely resembling Fairbanks. In fact, there was no sign of civilization at all.
Alaska Wild Page 2