Out of the Night

by Robin T. Popp

  “How long have you been flying private charters?”

  “A year.”

  One year? Lanie almost stumbled. Did she really want to fly to a foreign country with a man who’d been flying for only one year? “How long have you been a pilot?” That was maybe the better question, she hoped.

  “Ten years.”

  She sighed with relief as they reached the plane and she stopped beside it, waiting for him to open the hatch.

  “Yo, keep moving.”

  Lanie jerked to her left, to see Mac staring at her from behind the plane.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I said, keep moving. We don’t have time to waste sightseeing.”

  Confused, she waved a hand toward the plane. “But isn’t this—”

  “Our plane?” He gave a short laugh. “Hell, no. I’m not flying a Falcon 2000 into that part of the Amazon.” He leaned back and pointed to something she couldn’t see, hidden on the other side. “That’s what we’re flying.”

  With a feeling of dread, Lanie moved to the end of the small white jet and looked beyond it. She turned to stare at Mac in absolute horror and started shaking her head. “Oh, no, no, no. I am not getting into that . . . that . . . what is it, anyway?”

  “It’s a plane—let’s go.”

  She continued to stare. “It’s a rotted-out tin can with wings—correction, one wing and a stump. Surely you don’t expect me to ride in that? I mean, I can’t. I won’t.”

  “Can and will.” He put a hand behind her back and gave her a gentle shove. “My instructions from Admiral Winslow are to get you to Taribu with all due haste. I believe those were your orders to him, were they not?” He glanced at her, but didn’t wait for an answer as his hand continued to propel her forward.

  “The only people flying into Taribu are drug dealers, DEA, and the poor souls trying to make an honest living transporting livestock and workers back and forth between the larger cities.”

  They were at the plane now, and Lanie saw that it truly was a rusted-out, beat-up old plane. Mac opened the hatch and threw in her bag before turning back to her. “Personally, I don’t want the DEA thinking we’re drug dealers or the drug dealers thinking we’re DEA. So we’ll go in looking like the poor souls who have to haul livestock.” He waved a hand at the plane and gave her a smile, the first he’d directed her way, and it had a decidedly evil bent to it.

  “All aboard.”

  Lanie stepped forward as he jumped on board and saw that the inside looked only slightly safer than the outside. When she felt his gaze on her, she tipped her head back, blocking the sun with her hand, and gave him a weak smile.

  “I’m not going.”

  “You’re afraid of flying,” he accused her.

  “Even if I was, I have serious doubts that this thing will actually attain an altitude high enough to constitute flying,” she retorted. “But if it does, I assure you, it’s not the flying I’m afraid of—it’s mechanical failure and, possibly, pilot error.”

  This time his laugh sounded more genuine. “This is no time to be faint of heart. Man up, Weber. Time’s a-wasting.”

  Man up? She didn’t know what she hated more—his macho attitude or his obviously low opinion of her. Deciding it was the latter, she gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and grabbed the sides of the open hatch to haul herself up.

  Once inside, Lanie verified that it was as bad as she’d feared. Unbidden, her thoughts conjured the image of the plane doing a nosedive through the air, engines sputtering erratically and smoke billowing forth. “This thing is a death trap,” she muttered, “and we’re both going to die before we even make it out of Texas.”

  “Nice positive attitude,” Mac chided, suddenly appearing from out of a cubbyhole near the back of the plane. “Here, drink this. It’ll calm your nerves.”

  “What is it?” She stared at the small Styrofoam cup half full of light amber liquid.

  “Tequila.”

  Lanie studied it for a long time, silently debating the merits of jumping off and running away versus staying on board. An image of her father’s face came to mind and she sighed. There really wasn’t a choice. Given that, maybe a little something to help her relax was a good idea. “Please tell me that you’re not also planning to seek courage at the bottom of a cup, or ten?”

  He gave her another one of those grins that made her think the joke was on her. “Not this trip.”

  Though she wasn’t sure she trusted him, she didn’t think he was the kind to jeopardize his job or the lives of his clients by drinking. Besides, Uncle Charles had recommended him. She accepted the cup and lifted it to her lips. The familiar tangy-sweet smell of the alcohol tickled her nose. Bracing herself, she threw back the contents and felt the burn all the way down to her stomach. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked several times to clear them. As the cabin swam back into focus, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe two shots would be better than one. Reluctantly, she dismissed the idea and handed back the cup.

  “You can sit up front, in the copilot’s seat. Just don’t touch anything.” He pointed her in the direction of the cockpit, which, despite her fear, she found fascinating. She liked all the gauges and buttons, though she had no clue what any of them did. Plus, the view out the front window beat staring out the small side opening hands down.

  “Sit here and let me help you with the straps.”

  She slid into the copilot’s chair and watched those tan, masculine hands pull the straps across her front. When the back of his hand brushed against her breast, she froze, trying to hide her body’s immediate reaction, unsure whether he’d done it on purpose or by accident. She finally decided the contact had been unintentional, because even though her pulse was racing in response to it, he seemed not to have noticed at all.

  After she was buckled in, he closed the plane’s door and did whatever needed to be done in the back before they could take off. As she waited for him to return, Lanie felt a warm lassitude steal over her muscles, and the prospect of the upcoming flight grew less threatening.

  When Mac finally joined her in the cockpit, she found herself actually smiling at him. More amazing was the smile he gave her in return. He really was rather breathtaking when he did that, she thought again, her body growing lighter and her worries vanishing into thin air.

  “Well, I think we’re just about ready.” Mac’s voice floated to her as if from far away and she tried to focus on it, but it proved to be impossible. It occurred to her that one shot of tequila had never affected her like this before and that something was wrong, terribly wrong.

  Now her head felt too heavy to hold up, so she let it fall back against the seat. It took every bit of her willpower to look to the side where Mac’s face wavered unsteadily.

  “Wha . . . ?” Her mouth refused to ask the question her mind had no trouble screaming. What did you do to me?

  Then there was only darkness.

  Chapter 2

  Long hours later, Mac guided the plane across the tiny airfield in the northern Amazon of South America. The facility to which he and his passenger were headed was the headquarters for a zoological research project studying the indigenous wildlife of the area. The project was being conducted by one of the larger stateside universities, though Mac didn’t know which one specifically. It didn’t matter. The whole thing was a front for the U.S. military, giving them an excuse to have a covert presence in the Amazon. The sizable fee paid to key members of the Brazilian government ensured that the “university researchers” were left alone, and everyone seemed to like it that way.

  Mac wasn’t sure what type of research was really being done at the remote location. That information was classified, and he was no longer “in the know.” Still, there was no reason to believe that Weber’s and Burton’s deaths were anything more than they appeared—the result of a wild animal attack. Except, of course, that it seemed unusually convenient that Burton should die now of all times, and Mac wasn’t the only one to think so. As soon as
someone at the research facility had contacted Admiral Winslow with news of the deaths, the admiral had phoned Mac and the two had immediately begun making plans. It was imperative that Mac see the body of Lance Burton for himself. It was the only way they could be sure the man was truly dead.

  Shutting down the plane’s engines, Mac glanced at his client, amazed and grateful that she’d stayed unconscious for so long. He’d known the moment he saw her that she wouldn’t make the trip without a little help—she was just that kind—so he’d slipped a couple of pain pills into her tequila. He knew the white coloring of the Styrofoam cup would mask any particles of the pills that hadn’t fully dissolved. He needed to get to that research compound.

  Still, he was a little surprised at how long she’d been asleep. He’d been shooting for “relaxed,” not total unconsciousness. For the fourth time he checked her pulse, worried that he’d grossly underestimated the effects of two pain pills administered with alcohol. Just because they had little effect on him when he took them for the pain in his leg, didn’t mean they would affect her the same way. Once again, he found her pulse was strong and steady; she’d live.

  He couldn’t put off waking her any longer; it was time to face the music. Pulling a tissue from the nearest dispenser, he wiped away the drool at the corner of her mouth, trying to give back some of the dignity he’d stolen. She was a mousy little thing, he thought, glancing at the Coke-bottle glasses sitting askew on her nose.

  His eyes fell to the steady rise and fall of her chest, and he felt his body tighten at the memory of his hand brushing against the full treasure hidden beneath her oversized shirt. Touching her had been an accident, but not one he could bring himself to regret, although he was surprised that his body reacted so quickly. She wasn’t exactly his type.

  Leaving his chair, he walked to the galley and took a bottle of water from the fridge. He moistened a small towel and then returned to his charge. She hadn’t moved.

  Come on, Mac, he thought. Stop stalling. Heaving a sigh, he leaned over and jostled her arm. “Ms. Weber? Lanie? It’s time to wake up.” There was no response. He tried again, shaking her harder, but still nothing. Reluctantly, he laid the cool, damp cloth across her forehead and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as her eyes snapped open.

  She looked at him, blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear her vision. Then she looked around the cockpit, and when her gaze returned to his, he saw that while her eyes were still dilated, she seemed more alert.

  “I’m sorry, I must have dozed off.” She pushed herself up to sit straighter in the seat. A hand strayed to her head to massage her temples. “Just give me a second, and then we can leave.”

  Mac ignored the quick stab of guilt. “We’re already there. You slept through the entire flight.”

  “We’re in Brasilia?”

  “No. Taribu.”

  “Already?” She raised her arm, and he saw her try to focus on the watch face. “I don’t understand.” She glanced around, as if the answer to the mystery lay somewhere nearby. “I knew I was tired, but . . .” She broke off as she leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

  He didn’t like the greenish cast to her complexion. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t feel very good,” she mumbled.

  “Not much of a drinker?”

  She started to shake her head but stopped suddenly, as if the motion made things worse. “Not on an empty stomach and thirty-six hours of no sleep. Or maybe I’m coming down with something.”

  Mac inwardly cringed, thinking about the six-hour drive through the jungle that lay ahead of them.

  “Rest here while I get our stuff together.” He walked back to the plane’s small galley and scrounged through the pantry until he found crackers and a plastic bag. Going back to the cockpit, he held them out to her.

  “I thought you might want these.”

  When he spoke, one eyelid lifted slightly so she could see what he offered. She raised a hand to take both from him. “Thanks.”

  Trying to ignore how weak she sounded, Mac looked out the cockpit window. They’d flown all night and the sun wasn’t even a promise on the horizon. In another couple of hours, though, it would be high in the sky and hot as hell.

  He looked back down at her and saw that she hadn’t moved. “Look, I need to go across the way to get our rental Jeep and take care of the paperwork. Will you be okay here? By yourself?”

  “As long as I’m not moving, I’m fine.”

  Yeah, great, he thought, envisioning the dirt road they’d be bouncing along shortly. Man up, Knight. You picked the song, now it’s time to dance to the tune.

  “The head—uh, sorry—bathroom is right behind the cockpit, if you need it. I suggest you try to use it before we leave. We still have a long trip ahead of us.”

  He opened the hatch and stepped out. The stifling humidity instantly closed around him as he made his way across the darkened airfield to the main building ahead, nodding to the airfield workers he saw along the way.

  Fifteen minutes later, he’d secured transportation and had their respective bags loaded. Ten more minutes, and he’d managed to get the librarian from the cockpit chair into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

  “This might get a little rough.” Understatement of the year. He debated on whether or not to tell her about the muddy, rutted trail they had to drive on, or the bug-infested rain forest through which they would travel.

  No. Some things did not get better with anticipation. “Hang on.”

  He started the engine and, ignoring the sense of urgency gnawing at him, kept to a moderately slow pace as he drove, doing what he could to avoid the deepest ruts. Despite his best efforts, it wasn’t long before she hollered at him to stop.

  Jumping from the vehicle as soon as it was safe to do so, she ran a few feet into the woods, where Mac saw her bend over. Seconds later, her body convulsed and he knew she was throwing up. Heaving a sigh, he climbed out of the Jeep, pulled a clean rag from his gear, and used some of the water from his canteen to wet it. Then he crossed to where she was hunched over and, standing behind her, wrapped one arm around her waist and pressed his other hand against her forehead until she was finished. Then he handed her the wet cloth to wipe her face.

  “Thank you,” she said, sounding humiliated as they walked back to the Jeep.

  “Don’t worry about it. Here.” He gave her the canteen to rinse out her mouth and take a drink.

  When she was done, she wiped the mouth of the canteen off with her shirt and handed it back to him. He stood beside her until she was settled in her seat, then stowed the canteen in the back.

  “You look better,” he told her as he climbed behind the wheel and started the Jeep. “Some of the color is back in your face.”

  “I don’t understand. I’ve never had just one shot of anything kick my butt so bad before.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “What was in that tequila anyway?”

  He knew the second she put it all together. Her posture grew rigid as she stared at him accusingly.

  “You did—you put something in the tequila. What? Damn it, what did you give me?”

  “Pain pills, that’s all. It shouldn’t have done more than relax you.”

  “Based on what logic did you think that a couple of pain pills mixed with alcohol would only relax me? You’re lucky it didn’t kill me. No wonder I feel so lousy.”

  “You’re a big woman; I figured you had the body weight to handle it.” He glanced at her and found her gaping at him. “What?”

  “You’re not scoring any points here, pal.”

  He thought back to his last comment and sighed. “I didn’t mean that you were fat; I only meant you weren’t petite.”

  She put a hand to her head as if it ached. “Maybe you shouldn’t try to explain that part of it, okay? Diplomacy isn’t your strong suit. Just tell me why you did it. I mean, we were already scheduled to leave, so why knock me out, unless . . .” He saw her look around and then back at
him. “We are in Taribu, aren’t we? Or did you take me someplace else?”

  “No, we’re in Taribu. And the reason I did it is because we didn’t have time to wait for you to find the courage to make the flight, and I couldn’t take the chance that you’d back out. So I drugged you. Sue me.”

  “Yeah? Well, I just might do that.”

  They drove in silence for another two hours before she had to stop by the side of the road again. This time, when they were both back in the Jeep, she sat up straighter in the seat, as if she felt better.

  “I am sorry that I made you so sick,” he finally offered.

  She turned to study his face, and he hoped she saw the sincerity he felt. After a moment, she nodded. “I’ll consider forgiving you if you can produce a mint or something.”

  He smiled, reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a pack of gum. “How’s this?”

  Her eyes lit up as she took it from him. “It’s a start. Thanks.” She took a stick and handed the pack back to him. He took a piece for himself before putting it away, and they drove in silence as the sun rose and light began to filter through the canopy of tree limbs overhead.

  “I hate flying.”

  Her comment seemed to come out of thin air and when Mac glanced at her, he thought she looked very vulnerable sitting there, her eyes looking unusually large behind the thick glasses and wisps of light brown hair escaping from the band designed to secure them, making a halo around her head. She gave him a slight smile. “I don’t like your methods, but I have to admit that was one of the easiest flights I’ve ever taken.” She faced forward again, watching the road in front of them. “Don’t do it again.”

  “Okay.”

  After that, the road grew rougher, and it became too hard to shout over the rumble of the Jeep as it bounced along. Occasionally, the haunting cries of various birds and animals hidden within the jungle could be heard. Eventually, tired from being jostled about, they stopped to stretch their legs and Mac broke out the sandwiches he’d brought along. He was relieved to see that Lanie felt well enough to eat.