"Micki?" Luke gave her a tiny shake. "Tell me."
He deserved to know. Drawing a deep breath, she steeled herself for hearing the words aloud. "It said—"
Echoes ran before them so she softened her voice, not wanting to hear the words again and again in a hateful litany.
"It said, 'There's no way out. Die good and slow.'"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"Micki, do you hear that?"
She came to a stop in the dark. Absolute blackness had been hanging on her shoulders like a thick, cold coat for the last three hours; ever since the flashlight had died. "Hear what?"
Luke's warmth was her only reassurance now, his voice a welcomed whisper against her ear. "Dripping water."
She strained to hear through the blackness cloying her senses. "I can't—"
"No, running," he corrected. "Maybe it's an underground spring."
The parched desire for a drink of water set her in motion at a frenzied pace. "Or it could be rain," she said, dragging Luke forward with her. Her hopes grew as she deliriously considered the possibility. They had been wandering aimlessly in these catacombs for half the night. "Maybe it's a way out!"
They'd gone another fifty feet and around two curves before she finally heard the water. With that recognition came a blinding flash of diffuse light that caught her unawares.
"What is it?" Luke asked, sensing her hesitation.
"I saw... I thought I saw—" She blinked. She was cold and tired and thirsty; maybe she was just hallucinating. Just as she was doubting herself, the unmistakable sound of thunder rolled through the passage like a ghostly freight train. Sure now, she said, "I saw lightning. It must be raining outside. Luke, there must be an exit! A way out!"
She started forward again.
"Easy," Luke warned, stumbling to keep up with her as she increased her pace in the dark.
Micki took them around another turn. She expected to see an exit of some sort that she would make a joyous run for, but what she saw instead with the next lightning bolt brought her to a crestfallen halt.
"Oh, no." Her voice rang against the far walls of the new limestone chamber they had discovered.
Lightning flashed again, drawing her attention to the only route to the outside world. It was some fifteen feet above them. Head back, Micki regarded the hole in the ceiling and the rainwater cascading down through it like a miniature waterfall. The cave roof had fallen away years before, leaving a ragged opening about a yard in diameter and strewn debris at the base. Through it was an unobstructed view of—
A thunder clap made her jump back against Luke's chest.
His hands rose to her arms. There was relief in his voice as he said, "I've never been so happy to hear the sound of rain."
"Yeah, it's storming outside."
"So what are we waiting for? We can get out of here, right?"
"Only if you can sprout wings and fly. There's a hole in the roof. Nothing else."
Exhausted, hungry, and cold, Micki sank to the ground in weary defeat, and tried not to cringe at the electrical storm outside. Luke was immediately there on his knees beside her, wordlessly wrapping her into a supportive hug.
"The note was right, Luke," she said, unable to keep the tone of utter despair from her words. "There's no way out. It's another dead end."
***
After sating their thirsts with handfuls of rainwater, they explored their new prison. They spent ten minutes fumbling along the craggy walls with nothing but the lightning to show the way, looking for a cleft or a crack to confirm it wasn't really the cruel trick of nature it seemed. Micki started feeling her way along in one direction and Luke took the other. When they met on the other side of the irregular circle, neither of them spoke the obvious. Instead, a foreboding silence descended.
Micki moved to a patch of soft dry sand that had blown in through the hole in the roof and, over time, been swept into a pile. She sank down onto it, hugging her knees to her chin and, for the second time in her life, cowered under an overwhelming sense of vulnerability and loneliness. The first time had been when both her parents were killed in the car accident. Then, like now, she felt as if her life had ended. At the thought of her father, the sensation dissipated a little. The Colonel would be very disappointed at how his little trooper had augured in under pressure.
'You're not a quitter, Micki. You survived that, you can survive this, too.'
She had survived, then, by being tough enough, strong enough, and always in control enough to make her way in the mostly male dominated world of aviation by sheer determination. But this time...
Luke approached, drawing her out of her self-pity.
"I'm here," she said, reaching out to touch the blind hand he had stretched in front of him. He sat beside her and for a long moment, they just listened to the dripping rain and the sound of the storm.
Micki closed her eyes against the frequent lightning flashes, and tried to still her shuddering by pressing her shoulder against Luke's. Ashamed, she realized that all he would have to do was make a gesture that even remotely resembled an invitation and she'd be in his arms like some 'hysterical female,' and that was the last thing she wanted. She had to hold it together somehow. Regaining the precious control she had lost could mean the difference between surviving or dying in this awful place.
Luke interrupted her silent struggle for composure. "Look, it's not so bad."
"Not so bad?" Abruptly angry, she jerked away from him. "How can you say that? We've been all over this place, and there's nothing but rock and tree roots and more rock. There are only two exits, Luke; the one we came in through, and that one." She thrust an angry thumb upward even though he couldn't see it. "I can see the sky. And I don't want to die in here when I can see the damn sky!"
"Nobody said anything about dying," he said softly, his hand moving in a caressing stroke down her back. "Tomorrow, when the sun comes up, you'll be able to get a better look at what's in the corners of this place and maybe find another way out."
"But we just crawled all around it!"
Micki shook off Luke's touch, defying the conflicting emotions that swelled within her. Her need for him terrified her nearly as much as the storm outside. A tear slipped down her cheek, forcing her to her feet. Wiping the wetness from her face with the back of her hand, she paced away, not wanting Mr. Macho to know she'd finally cracked. "Face it, Luke, just like Reynolds' note said—there is no other way out of here."
Luke's head cocked as he followed the sound of her voice. "Then we can double back the way we came. Maybe we missed something."
"Oh no, I can't go back down there." Hugging herself, she turned to look at the darkness yawning open like a ravenous beast, just waiting to devour them. "I can't go back into that passage without a flashlight—I can't!"
Luke was silent for a moment then said, "I take it the battery's dead."
She didn't answer.
"You should have told me earlier," he insisted.
"Why?" She'd been trying to act as if everything was fine in an attempt to convince him—and herself—that things weren't as hopeless as they seemed. "So you could pat me on the hand and tell me everything would be all right? Well, I've got news for you, Yank. None of it is 'all right.'"
As the echo of her words faded about them, Micki bit her lower lip. She suddenly felt selfish and ashamed. At least she'd had the comfort of the flashlight for a few hours. For Luke, there was only darkness.
"Come on, Micki," he said with an understanding that twisted the knot in her chest. "You're exhausted. Sit and rest for a bit, then we'll figure this out together."
The lightning flashed again, turning their underground jail into a nightmarish scene from hell. Micki shuddered. How could Luke sound so calm and composed when they were most certainly going to die, probably slowly and painfully from hunger or... something worse.
Guessing her silence was deliberation, Luke held out his arms. Her heart turned over at the gesture. She longed to go to him now, just like th
e night they spent in the fishing shanty. It was only the constant, ingrained need to prove she was capable of taking care of herself that kept her away.
Micki turned away before the vulnerable part of her surrendered. If she sat down now and yielded to the necessity of being held by Luke Hardigan, then she wasn't sure she would ever be able to get up and face the struggle again. She was too tired and too hungry, not to mention freezing her butt in her girlie girl clothes and terrified of the storm raging above them.
With a deepening sense of despair, she thought of her makeshift pack, left on the dock in the smuggler's cave. It wasn't supposed to work like this. Micki Jacinto was a survivor, always prepared for any emergency. How had she ended up here? Like this? And how could she possibly trust the instinct that drew her so strongly to Luke when something very near to it had led her to Dirk, and ultimately to this misery?
"Micki, hon..."
"Don't you dare patronize me!" she shouted, her voice ringing off the walls and flinging itself defiantly up at the one thing in the world that scared her senseless. The storm mocked her with a muted growl of thunder and she drew a deep, ragged breath, determined to remain in control. "I am not some hysterical female who can't handle herself under pressure."
"I know, I'm sorry. I just—"
"I'm a survivor."
"I know that, too. I just meant... you're stressed out and not thinking clearly. Rest for a bit and then—"
"What I don't need is you telling me what to do!" She rested her hands on the cave wall in front of her and leaned on it with a heavy sigh.
"Okay," Luke answered softly. "It's your call."
Unable to look at him, Micki stayed where she was for a long moment. The wall before her was gritty and damp, with a maze of tube-like surfaces protruding from the craggy limestone. Here, the roots of a topside tree searched for pockets of soil in the rock, and ran all over the cave wall like pipes installed by a crazed plumber. As Micki's hands instinctively closed around them, a just-as-crazed idea formed.
Head back, she studied the hole in the ceiling, almost directly overhead. No one was getting in or out that without rappelling gear, but the tree roots ran up the side of the cave wall. In the dim light she couldn't tell if they went all the way up to the top, or snaked off underground. But if they did, if they ran up to the roof, then maybe she could tear strips off her dress hem, or Luke's t-shirt, and fashion some sort of makeshift rope to help her reach the hole...
Or break her neck trying, if that's what it took. And Micki Jacinto always had what it took, didn't she?
She turned to regard the man behind her and the stark reality of his body language hit her like a physical blow. He must have thought she was too far away to notice, because he had finally let his defenses down. Luke had folded himself around the pain of his obviously battered body. His knees were drawn up to his chest, where one arm cradled bruised ribs, and his shoulders were hunched as if to ease the agony of the torture in the wine cellar. Still, his face was turned toward her as he waited for her to answer him—waiting for her to 'make her call.'
At the sight, a sob bubbled up from deep within her, crumbling the last few bricks in her defensive wall. She fought it down, but was fast losing the battle with her fear of the elements, death, and with her heart. One by one those bricks continued to fall, splattering like the raindrops on the debris at her bare feet.
"Micki?" Luke shifted awkwardly, moving slowly as he tried to force his exhausted body to its feet. "Are you okay?"
In the flash of lightning above them, she could see his face clearly—too clearly—and she felt pain spasm within her own chest. He needed her touch every bit as much as she needed his. Stripped of all emotions but one, Micki answered the impulse without further thought and moved swiftly to fall to her knees at his side.
"I'm sorry, Luke." Of their own accord, her hands lifted to his bruised face as she spoke from her heart. "I am so sorry."
Bewildered, he tentatively reached for her hands, covering them with his own. "For what?"
"For getting us lost in this tomb, for losing my pack of food and water. For what Dirk did to you." Her fingers brushed his temples, careful not to touch the injured skin about his eyes. Unshed tears threatened to choke her and she gathered him into her arms, letting her touch say what her voice could not. "For... everything."
"Hey," he said softly, hearing past the words to the admission of defeat. His arms slipped about her in a reflection of her own actions. "We're going to get out of this. Do you hear me? Remember our agreement. We're going to survive this for Ray, and get the guys responsible for what happened to him."
'We're going to get out of this.' Not 'I'm going to get you out of this' as Dirk would have said. Not 'I'm going to survive this' as she had used as her mantra against the world for so long. But 'we.'
With that realization, searing as any lightning strike, Micki lost her battle with the convulsive sobs welling from deep inside. Tightening her arms about Luke, she felt him again mirror the action, drawing them close together in an embrace. Sobbing, she buried her face against him.
For an instant there was warmth, strength, and comfort that felt undeniably right, and then it seemed the entire world exploded about them.
There was an almighty flash and a boom that sounded as if the sky had split open. Stunned by the sound, Micki found herself flung to the sand beneath Luke. The air smelled sharply of burnt ozone, and rock shrapnel flew around their limestone cell like a detonated grenade.
It took what seemed an eternity for the world to settle back into place. As the dust drifted downward, Micki looked past Luke's shoulder toward the hole in the cave ceiling. Instead of the night sky strewn with clouds and lit by the storm, there was a flickering orange hue and the crackle of burning timber. That topside tree had just been struck by the lightning and set ablaze... just like the tree outside her bedroom window when she was a kid.
And yet... she wasn't afraid anymore. Not here, not in Luke's arms. Not together.
"You okay?" he asked. When she didn't immediately answer, he shook her a little, his voice rising in concern. "Micki?"
"I'm all right." Pushing them both to sitting, she assured him again as he ran an anxious hand over her hair. "I'm not hurt."
"That was too close."
"Yes, I think... lightning struck a tree just above us. The current must've traveled down the roots and blew out here in the cave. Right where I was standing a minute ago."
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine."
She looked over to the smoldering wall and the dust cloud settling over the rubble. Then she looked back at Luke, realizing she had survived only because of her choice.
For once, she had followed her heart instead of her head. She was out of her element and completely unprepared for the situation... and still, she had survived.
***
Bleary-eyed, Dirk watched the horizon change from an endless black that matched the darkness in his heart, to a soft purple that reminded him of a bruise on an otherwise perfect sunrise. Perhaps a bruise was exactly what it was, because each day from now until his death would be likewise marred and painful to endure.
Life without Micki.
His eyes narrowed as he took a slow drag on the stunted cigarette that threatened to burn his fingers within the next few moments. Earlier that evening, in the midst of a raging thunderstorm, he had positioned the soft chair in front of the open French windows leading to the bedroom balcony. Standing on the seat, with his white shirt and trousers plastered against his skin by the wind-driven rain, he'd yelled into the face of the storm, daring then begging God to strike him dead. The answering lightning bolt that sizzled to the ground on the other side of the island was enough to make him sit back down. Then, with Micki's rejected white satin negligee to wipe the rain from his face, he stared silently, but a tad less suicidal, out to sea.
He slowly smoked his way through the rest of his cigarettes, spending long hours lamenting his lost love and plott
ing his revenge. Heart aching and consumed by vengeance, Dirk conspired a dozen ways of bringing down the Van Allen empire, all extremely satisfying, even if they did conflict with his sense of self-preservation. Incriminating Van Allen meant incriminating himself. Even with a plea bargain in exchange for information and his testimony, Dirk knew he'd still be looking at extensive jail time.
Not that his future in the Van Allen 'family' was much brighter. He'd been locked in that damn bedroom all night; no one was coming to pat him on the back and tell him all was forgiven. He'd completely lost face. He was an embarrassment and a liability, which probably meant someone was, even now, arranging for him to have 'an accident.'
Movement down on the dock caught his attention. Moving shadows became a cluster of men assembling under the light at the far end. Dirk took an interest in the group, as they received orders and dispersed in crews of two into half a dozen of the speedboats. Maybe his one-way cruise was closer than he thought.
More alert now, Dirk sat up a little straighter, one ear listening for the sound of the bedroom door opening to confirm his suspicions. He was relieved, however, when the boats weighed anchor and started to troll along the shoreline with spotlights, just far enough out to avoid the heavy breakers stirred up by the weather. What they were trolling for in those wet and miserable pre-dawn hours, Dirk didn't know, but he found himself studying their red and green running lights... until their track began to look familiar. He'd seen them navigate these same precise patterns yesterday, when they'd first been searching for—
"Micki!"
Heart leaping in his chest, he was up out of the soft wing-backed chair like he'd been stuck with a pin. It was the only explanation—Van Allen's men were searching for Micki! If she'd escaped from that damn cave, then of course she'd come back to the marina to steal a boat and get the hell off that island!
It was the only thing that made sense; Dirk refused to consider the possibility that the boats were searching for her body, or for Hardigan.
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