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“Get us out of here, Teague,” he said, and reached for the headphones. He put them on before they were really necessary, and pretended not to hear her call him an epithet he’d last heard from the lips of his ex-wife. Except she’d said it sadly, ruefully, whereas there was nothing but venom in this woman’s low, husky voice.
Still fighting, he thought, but not stupidly. She didn’t try anything she was doomed to lose, like getting past him, or striking at him.
He filed the knowledge away in his head as he settled into his cramped spot on the floor, shifting once to avoid pressure on the spot on his left leg where she had kicked him. She’d fought hard. He was lucky she hadn’t gotten his knee—or worse—with that blow, or he’d be gimping around for two or three days. As it was, he was going to be feeling it for at least that long.
And if looks could kill, he’d already be dead.
Chapter Four
This wasn’t the first time Hayley wished she had a better sense of direction. Without the little compass reading in her car’s rearview mirror, she’d never know which way she was going, unless she was headed into a rising or setting sun.
She wasn’t sure a good sense on the ground would translate to a good one in the air, however. And while she was sure this beast must have a compass, it was situated where she couldn’t see it from back here, so she had no idea which way they were headed. They’d changed direction more than once, and she was completely lost now.
Her sense of time passing was pretty good, though, and she guessed they’d been airborne this second time over a couple of hours. Almost as long as the first leg, which she had pegged at around three hours. So they were better than five hours away from Vicente’s front yard, and her own little house among the trees. A long time in cramped quarters; even Quinn had shifted so he could stretch out his long legs on the floor of the craft.
I hope your butt’s numb by now, she thought uncharitably. Even if it is a very nice one.
She quashed the traitorous thought; not every bad guy was a troll, after all. The world would be in much better shape if they were, of course, but life was never that simple. If they were the good guys, surely they would have pulled out a badge and shown it to her by now, to ensure her cooperation?
She tried to puzzle out at least how far they’d come, but she had no idea how fast they were flying, and without that crucial factor of the equation, what she did know was useless.
The only thing she knew for sure was that her dog was about at the end of his considerable patience. He’d begun to squirm again about a half hour after they’d taken off the second time, clearly wanting down off her lap. Since it was awkward, overheating and by this time generally uncomfortable to hold the animal, who seemed to get heavier with every passing moment, she’d looked for a space to let him down. But there was little, not with Quinn on the floor in front of her.
It occurred to her she should just dump the adoring Cutter in the man’s lap. That perhaps she should have done that while they were on the ground, then maybe she could have gotten to the door while he disentangled himself.
But that had never really been an option. The man still had a gun, and he’d already threatened to pitch the dog overboard. That had been when they’d still been on the ground, but she wouldn’t put it past the steely-eyed man to do it when they were airborne.
Cutter squirmed again. He gave it extra effort this time, and it worked; his hind end slipped off her knees and she couldn’t stop him. He gave a final twist and she had to let go or risk hurting him. And in the next moment, he was exactly where she’d thought of pitching him; in Quinn’s lap.
Her heart leaped into her throat. Her common sense told her the man wasn’t likely to shoot inside his own helicopter, but she was scared and this was her beloved pet, and logic wasn’t her strongest point just now.
“Please, he’s just a dog,” she said urgently, leaning forward as far as she could belted into her seat, hoping he would hear her over the noise of the flight.
He said something, but so quietly she knew it was meant for the pilot. She held her breath, praying it wasn’t an order to open the door so he could toss the animal to his death.
They kept flying. Quinn lifted the fifty-pound dog easily off his lap. And then, to her amazement, he bent his knees and turned slightly, wedging himself into what had to be a much less comfortable position, and put the dog down on the floor beside him.
He’d moved to make room for Cutter.
Hayley closed her eyes, nearly shaking with relief. She didn’t know what to think, now. It was such a simple thing, but yet so telling.
Maybe.
Maybe he just didn’t want to risk opening the door and tossing the dog out. Or the mess of shooting him. She fought to hang on to the cynical view, knowing it was both the more likely, and safer for her to believe, for Cutter’s sake and her own.
Gradually she became aware that she could see a little better. She cautiously looked around, wondering if Quinn would try to stop her from doing even that. From where she was, thanks to the shade he’d pulled down, she could only look forward. It seemed the sky looked lighter along the horizon there, but without the rest of the sky to compare it with, it was hard to be sure. Quinn, down on the floor with Cutter, who was apparently happy now, was still in darkness. But the fact that she could now see Vicente’s face where he’d been in stark shadow before told her her guess about time was accurate. Dawn was breaking.
She saw Quinn’s head move as he put a hand to the headphones as if listening. She guessed he spoke then to the pilot, or perhaps answered something the pilot had said.
If they’d been headed east there was geography to deal with, and that little problem of the Cascade Mountains. Could a helicopter even go high enough to get over them? Or would it have to fly along the same passes and routes used by men on the ground? She had no idea.
You really don’t know much useful, do you? she thought sourly.
But who would have ever thought she’d need to know how high or fast a scary black helicopter could fly? Just the phrase black helicopter was so laden with images and ideas from books and film that it made clear thinking almost impossible.
Vicente moved slightly, shifted position. For a moment she wished she’d been able to sleep as well as he seemed to have; her weariness just made rational thought even harder. But sleeping under the circumstances, especially with the lethal Quinn—for she had no doubt he could be just that—barely a foot away, was beyond her, even tired as she was. Fear-induced adrenaline was still coursing through her system, and she was jittery with it.
Vicente moved again, then opened his eyes. With the added light, she was able to see him go from sleepiness to awareness to full wakefulness, and he sat up sharply. And when he looked her way, a parade of expressions crossed his face, first surprise, then recognition as he remembered, and then, somewhat mollifying, regret.
It was at that moment she realized they were dropping in altitude. Another refueling stop? Well, this time asking for the bathroom wasn’t going to be a ruse, it was going to be a necessity. And if he didn’t believe her this time—
The sharp pivot of the helicopter interrupted her thought. They were definitely landing. This time she recognized the feeling. And as the direction they were facing changed, she saw indeed the first light of dawn on the horizon.
They touched down even more lightly than last time, so lightly she wasn’t sure they were actually down until Teague began to flip off switches and the sound of the rotors changed as they began to slow.
And then, as she got her first glimpse of their surroundings in the still-gray light of dawn, she wondered if they were here to refuel at all. Because this certainly was no airfield, not even a small, rural one. And there was no sign of a fuel truck.
What there was, was a big, old, ramshackle barn several yards away across an expanse of dirt dotted with low, scraggly-looking brush. A bit beyond that was what appeared to be an old, falling-down windmill. And coming toward them from the barn was a man, dressed in khaki tan pants and a matching shirt that made him hard to see against the tan of the landscape in the faint light. Hayley thought he might be limping, just slightly, but she couldn’t be sure. What she was sure of was the rifle he held. Not a classic, elegant one with a polished wood stock, but an all-black, aggressive thing that looked as if it was out of some alien-invasion movie.
Quinn pulled off the headset, and this time instead of putting it in the empty front seat, hung it on a hook overhead. Did that mean they were here? Wherever “here” was? Was this their destination?
Quinn pulled himself to his feet, dodging the now-alert-and-on-his-paws Cutter. He looked at Vicente, who was now sitting upright, fully awake.
“We’ll have you inside shortly, sir,” Quinn said.
Sir?
Respect, she noted. While she obviously didn’t even rate an acknowledgment, now that they were … wherever they were.
“I really need that bathroom now,” she said.
Quinn glanced at her. Seemed to study her for a moment. She didn’t know what he saw that was different, but he apparently believed her this time.
“It’ll only be a few minutes.” Then his glance shifted to the dog. “He can get out now, though.”
Hayley didn’t quite know how to take that; was it thoughtfulness for the dog, or did Quinn want control of him, so that he could control her?
If that’s his thinking, he’s in for a surprise, Hayley thought. About the first part, anyway; she didn’t think anybody really controlled Cutter.
Quinn got out of the chopper, and she saw him bend and stretch his legs as if they were cramped. They must be, cramming a body she guessed was at least six feet tall into that small space on the floor couldn’t have been easy. Not that she felt sorry for him.
But he had made room for Cutter, despite the cramped quarters. And the dog seemed no less enamored of him this morning than he had been from the moment he’d encountered this dark stranger.
But to his credit, he did hesitate when Quinn held the door open for him. He looked back over his shoulder, his dark eyes fastened on her in a silent appeal for permission. She selfishly wanted to tell him no, wanted him to stay with her, but she knew the sometimes-hyperactive dog was probably about to jump out of his fur after being trapped in this small space for so long. Not to mention he probably needed his much more convenient sort of a bathroom as much as she needed one.
“Go ahead,” she told him, and with a small, happy woof, he leaped from the helicopter to the ground. He looked up at Quinn expectantly. Quinn seemed puzzled, and made a broad gesture toward the open space they were in, as if to tell the dog it was all his now. It was strange how much smaller Cutter looked standing next to the tall man; to her he seemed like a big dog, next to Quinn, more average.
Cutter briefly checked out the surprised newcomer, but despite the aggressive weapon, and unlike with Quinn, after a moment he seemed to find nothing of particular interest there and quickly moved on at a brisk trot, checking out his new surroundings.
The new man was speaking to Quinn and Teague, in the manner of someone giving a report. Teague was listening carefully, but it was clear the report was directed at Quinn. To Hayley, everything sounded a bit muffled; her ears must be humming a little after the hours of noise, and she could make out only an occasional word; she heard the newcomer say “perimeter” and “secure,” but not much else.
“I am very sorry.”
Her head snapped around as her fellow passenger spoke into the fresh silence. He did have a slight accent, Hispanic, she thought, and he was looking at her with that same expression she had seen earlier, tinged with more than a little regret.
That she had gotten sucked into this? she wondered.
Or that she wasn’t going to get out of it?
At the moment, the latter seemed more likely. And by the time Quinn turned back and gestured her out, she was oddly reluctant; the stealthy black helicopter seemed suddenly safer than whatever she was going to be stepping into out there.
Chapter Five
“We’re up and running,” Liam Burnett said briskly as he joined sniper Rafer Crawford in reporting in.
Quinn nodded as he stretched gratefully; he’d expected nothing less. His crew was well trained and could think for themselves. They’d have everything ready to roll.
Then Liam spotted their extra half-passenger roaming about, and Quinn could see his detail-oriented mind kick in. And then he noticed the woman still aboard, and that mind revved up even further. Quinn followed the progression of his thoughts as they went from the logistics of an extra person and an animal, to the realization that person was a woman, to the recognition that she was a rather attractive one. Liam always had had the worst poker face of them all. Came with youth, Quinn supposed.
“So,” Rafer said, with a sideways glance of his own at the woman still in the chopper, “how’d she happen?”
“Unavoidable,” Quinn said with a grimace, and gestured with a thumb toward the dog, who was ranging out toward the barn, investigating the grounds with a thoroughness he had to admire. The animal would probably know who and what had been through here for the past six months before he was through.
“The dog’s fault?” Rafer sounded even more puzzled.
“It’s a long story,” Quinn said as he watched Teague open the far door of the helicopter and help Vicente out. The older man moved stiffly, almost gingerly. Rafer quickly went to help; he had some experience with moving through pain.
“We have any painkillers in stock?” Quinn asked Liam. “Seems the old man’s got arthritis pretty bad.”
“Standard first-aid kit issue, plus Rafer’s stash of ibuprofen.”
“May have to raid that,” Quinn said. “Hope he’s not having a bad week.”
“Seems okay,” Liam said.
Since Liam and Rafer worked together a lot, he should know, Quinn thought. As much as anyone did, anyway; Rafer did a good job of hiding any pain the old injury gave him. If it wasn’t for the slight limp, no one who hadn’t seen the impressive scar would know there was anything wrong. And he refused to let it slow him down; it had been a long, painful process, but he’d pushed so hard and learned to compensate so well he was as efficient as any of them at anything short of long-distance running.
“Sometime today?”
The words came from inside the helicopter. She was sounding a bit snappish, Quinn thought, smothering a wry quirk of his mouth.
“If you’re lucky,” he retorted, not even looking at her.
“What’s her name?” Liam asked, lowering his voice.
“No idea.”
Liam stared at him for a moment, then shook his head ruefully. “Only you could spend all this time with a woman who looks like that and not even find out her name.”
“If you’re so interested, you watch her,” Quinn said drily. “You might find her more trouble than she’s worth.”
“I don’t know,” Liam said, giving her a sideways look, “she looks like she’d be worth a lot.”
“I’ll get her inside while you secure and refuel the chopper, then she’s all yours,” Quinn said. He reached over and yanked open the door. “Keep her under control.”
From the corner of his eye he saw the woman stiffen, drawing up straight. She’d reacted to his last words much as he’d expected, and he felt a tug of relief as he handed responsibility for her over to the young and earnest Liam. If she was the girl-next-door type her loyalty to the dog suggested, they’d be perfect for each other.
“What about the dog?” Liam asked, keeping his eyes on the woman as she emerged from the helicopter.
“Our other uninvited guest? I’ll round him up,” Quinn said. “He seems to like me.”
“No accounting for taste,” the woman muttered, and he saw Liam smother a grin.
“No, there surely isn’t,” Liam said, no trace of the grin on his face sounding in his faint Texas drawl.
Quinn watched as she stepped down to the ground. It was past dawn now, and he could see what he’d missed before. She was a little taller than he’d first thought, maybe five-five. The curves were definite but not exaggerated. And the hair he’d thought was simply brown in fact was a combination of brown and gold and red that made the chill morning air seem warmer.
I think you’ve been cooped up too long, he told himself, smothering another grimace.
“She says she needs a bathroom,” he said, quickly reducing things back to the basics. He thought he saw her cheeks flush slightly as he announced her needs to all present, but as he’d guessed, it truly was a necessity this time, because she didn’t protest.
But then she turned and got her first look at where they were. And her thoughts were clear on her face; he had the feeling that, maybe for the first time in her life she really, truly knew what the phrase “the middle of nowhere” meant.
They were on a slight rise, but as far as the eye could see around them was nothing but empty, nearly flat land, unrelieved by anything but dried-up grasses, scrubby plants and an occasional tree. It wasn’t desert, at least not the kind the word summoned up in his mind—sand and wind and dunes—but it was very, very far from the green paradise they had left last night.
He could almost see her hopes of escape plummet; not that he would have let her get away anyway, but she wouldn’t be the woman he was beginning to think she was if she hadn’t at least been thinking about it. But he saw the realization of the odds that she would make it to any kind of help or even civilization dawn in her eyes as she looked out over the remote emptiness.
“Be careful what you wish for,” she said softly, in an almost despairing whisper.
It didn’t take a genius to guess what she meant; all those hours when she’d probably been wishing the interminable helicopter flight would end, and now that it had she wanted nothing more than to get back on the thing and get out of here. Because that seemed the only way to leave this utterly isolated place.
Good, Quinn thought. As long as she realized that, hopefully she wouldn’t try anything stupid.
And then she turned around, and saw the cabin.
She really did have an expressive face, Quinn thought. Playing poker with her would be like taking money from a baby, even more than Liam. Not that he really blamed her. The cabin looked as if it was about to fall in on itself. All but a strategically placed couple of windows were boarded over, and the roof sagged and looked as if it would leak like a sieve, if it ever rained in this place. There were loose pieces of siding here and there, and things at odd angles and heavily weathered. The only solid-looking piece of it was the river-rock chimney, standing as a testament to the skill of the long-ago stonemason. The place looked as if it had been abandoned for years.
It looked exactly as it was supposed to look.
“Quinn?”
He turned to look at Liam. “The dog. Are we going to need a run into—”
The words broke off as Quinn gave a warning flick of a glance at the woman. Admittedly the nearest little town, tiny though it was, was not one she’d likely heard of, but he didn’t want to give her any ideas.
“Don’t worry about feeding the damned dog.”
The woman went still. “He has to eat,” she said.
