Operation Midnight

Besides, why would somebody who could afford an aircraft like this one need money so badly they’d commit a crime like kidnapping? Unless of course that was how they afforded it.

Maybe they were drug dealers, she thought, barely resisting the urge to look around and see if there were drugs piled in the small space behind her. Did helicopters have separate cargo spaces? She had no idea. She pushed the media-inspired image of wrapped white packages of cocaine out of her mind.

There were other possibilities, of course. Terrorists, for instance. They didn’t look it, but what did she know? Maybe Vicente was some sort of master bomb maker, maybe they—

The helicopter seemed to lean sharply, cutting off her careening thoughts. Just as well, she told herself, you were getting silly.

At least, she hoped she was getting silly. But what simple explanation could there be for being scooped up in the middle of the night by strange men, along with her possibly stranger neighbor?

She lifted her head, realized Quinn was staring at her from his spot on the floor. She had no idea what he might be hearing in that headset, but there was no doubt about what he was looking at. As with Vicente, all she could see was the reflection of what dim lights there were in his eyes, and a different sort of gleam on the dark, thick hair.

Since talking and asking the myriad of questions she had was impossible, her mind was free to race to turn over every rock looking for possibilities. This was not necessarily a good thing, she realized. She’d never thought of herself as particularly imaginative, but the things that tumbled through her mind now could be called nothing less. In the light of day, anyway.

Quinn seemed focused on her, as if he wasn’t worried about Vicente at all. And if that were true, that confirmed her neighbor was part of this, in some way. It made her shiver anew to think what the man might have been up to just a couple of hundred yards away from her home. That he might have had very good reason to stay hidden.

Cutter returned the scrutiny, keeping his eyes on the man on the floor, occasionally stretching out toward him with his nose, apparently still in love at first scent. It really was strange, the way the dog had reacted to this man. Under other, normal circumstances, she might be inclined to trust the dog’s judgment; more than once he’d been wary of someone she’d later learned was worthy of the distrust. And if he liked someone … well, at the moment the jury was out on that.

And it finally occurred to her to wonder why the man had brought the dog along. He’d only hesitated a fraction of a second before picking him up and putting him in the helicopter after her. Had he assessed that quickly that she’d do what she had to to protect the animal? Including cooperate with him?

The more she thought about that, the more it frightened her. That he had realized, that quickly, that Cutter could be the key to her cooperation told her more than she wanted to know. Clearly whoever and whatever he was, he would use any tool that presented itself.

She stared back at the man, her mind providing an image of what she couldn’t see in the darkness, filling in details she’d glimpsed in the deck light. The strong jaw, the stern mouth, the dark brows with the slightly satanic arch—

Okay, that’s enough of that, she ordered herself, and looked away. At least his image would be clear enough to tell someone what he looked like, she thought.

Someone? Like the police?

Her breath jammed up in her throat, unable to get past the sudden tightness as the obvious belatedly hit her. She’d seen them. All of them. But why hadn’t they just killed her on the spot, then? Had they been in too much of a hurry to get away? Or had they just not decided her fate yet?

More likely, she thought grimly, they had a place where they disposed of bodies, and it was easier to wait until they got there.

And all her imaginings suddenly didn’t measure up to the horror of the reality, and even the darkness couldn’t make it any worse.

They flew on and on, until her half-crazed mind would have sworn it had been days if it weren’t for the fact that they were still and ever in darkness.

And underlying it all was the grimmest imagining of all, that she might never see the light of day again.

Chapter Three

“Coming up on the airport in about ten.”

Teague Johnson’s voice came through loud and clear over the headset, with none of the crackle or hiss the old headsets had been prone to. Worth the price, Quinn Foxworth thought as he lifted the flap on his watch that kept the dial’s glow from being seen. 0315 hours. Not bad, well within the parameters they’d set despite the … complications.

“Fuel?” he asked.

Normally it wouldn’t be an issue, they planned carefully, but they were carrying an extra passenger. And a half, he added with a grimace. That dog….

“It made a difference,” Teague answered. “It’ll be close, but we’ll make it.”

“Copy.”

He went back to his study of their unplanned-for passenger, while that half-passenger continued to study him. The dog’s dark eyes never left him, and he didn’t have to be able to see in the dark to know it, although his night vision was remarkably good.

He knew little about the workings of the canine brain. And had no idea why the dog seemed so … taken with him. It would be amusing if it wasn’t so puzzling.

His owner, on the other hand, wasn’t taken with him at all, Quinn noted wryly. Too bad. She wasn’t bad-looking. At least, from what he’d seen. And felt, during his cursory pat down and when he’d put a hand on a curved, tight backside to shove her aboard. It had startled him, that sudden shock of interest; there’d been little time for women in his life for … a very long time.

And there was no time now, he told himself. They’d be on the ground soon, and vulnerable for the few minutes it would take to refuel. And it had better be only a few minutes; they’d paid enough extra to guarantee it. They could have avoided this by using a plane, with longer range, but in this semirural area it would have meant transporting Vicente by ground to an airstrip, and then from an airstrip to the location on the other end. And that would have made them even more vulnerable.

The unexpected intrusion of woman and dog hadn’t delayed them much, since he hadn’t wasted any time dithering about what to do. But it was costing them more fuel; even though she looked to weigh maybe one-twenty at most, the dog added another forty-five or fifty pounds—five of that fur, he thought—and together that was the equivalent of another passenger about Vicente’s size. On an aircraft this small it mattered, not so much in space as in fuel efficiency. But their timetable, and getting Vicente out of there, had been the most important thing.

And secrecy. The man was a valuable commodity, and they couldn’t risk leaving behind somebody who could tell anyone anything.

He felt the shift in angle of the chopper, knew they were approaching the small airfield where they would refuel. He saw the woman’s head come up a moment later, as she apparently realized it, too. Her gaze shifted to the port window, then, obviously able to see nothing but night sky, shifted forward, as if she were trying to read the controls for a clue.

Could she? Did she know something about helicopters, or aircraft gauges? She didn’t seem to be affected by the flight, no sign of air sickness or dizziness when they had made any quick changes. Unlike Vicente, who had required a serious dose of motion sickness medication to tolerate the flight. Quinn had been glad to give it to him; drowsiness was a side effect, and that was fine with him.

He’d thought about making the woman take some, too, under the guise of not wanting her to throw up in his helicopter. But there hadn’t been time, and getting it down her would have been too much hassle. Besides, he wanted a chance to assess her under controlled circumstances. And there weren’t many more controlled circumstances than strapped into a helicopter seat at ten thousand feet and a hundred and thirty-five knots.

So far, she hadn’t been trouble, but he wasn’t about to turn his back on a woman who rushed a man with a drawn weapon. And even when her face had been hidden as she clung to that damned dog, he couldn’t escape the feeling that she was thinking like mad, and that didn’t bode well for keeping things simple.

As they dropped lower she became more alert. He smothered a sigh; as if he could hear her thoughts, he knew she was trying to figure out a way to escape. He reached out and slid down the built-in shade on the porthole she’d been looking out; the more ignorant they could keep her of the surroundings, the better.

He flicked a glance at Vicente, who seemed to be sound asleep, propped in his corner. He was a tough old bird, he’d give him that. He’d barely turned a hair when they’d shown up in the middle of the night and taken over. But given his history, that wasn’t surprising.

But this young bird, this wary, watchful female of the species, he didn’t know. So he had to assume the worst.

“It’s all yours when we touch down,” he said into the headset.

“Problem?”

“The old man’s asleep. Our uninvited guest is plotting.”

“What’d she say?”

“Nothing. And how do you know I didn’t mean the dog?”

He heard the short laugh. “The dog clearly thinks you’re some kind of dog-god. The woman, not so much.”

“Figures,” Quinn muttered.

Another laugh, and as if in punctuation they dropped rather sharply.

“Got the signal light,” Teague said.

Moments later he set the craft down with the gentlest of thumps, barely perceptible, nearly as soft as he himself could have managed. He’d have to let the guy fly more often, Quinn thought.

The noise lessened as the rotors slowed. The fuel truck was already there and waiting, as planned, a good sign. He would have preferred to keep her running, but the crew here wasn’t trained for a hot refuel so they had to shut down. They didn’t want the kind of attention flouting the local rules would bring. The anonymity of the small field was worth it, they’d decided.

Teague waited until the rotors had stopped, then opened his door and stepped down to the tarmac. There was a floodlight on the side of the hangar they were closest to, and it brightened the interior of the helicopter. Quinn glanced at Vicente, making sure he was truly sleeping; he hadn’t seemed to stir at all, even when they’d landed. The old man better not be getting sick on them. But his eyes were closed and Quinn could hear, in the new silence, the soft sound of snoring. Maybe the guy just was particularly susceptible to those meds, he thought.

The quiet seemed deafening, nothing but the brief exchange between Teague and the fueler and the sounds of the process audible in this dead time between night and morning. He’d read somewhere that more people in hospitals died at 3:00 a.m. than any other time, that it just seemed to be the time people gave up.

Not sure why that had occurred to him just now, he wondered if he could just leave the headphones on and stave off whatever she had in mind. But the moment it was quiet enough to be heard, she dove in.

“I need a bathroom.”

Ah. So there it was, her first approach, he thought. Short, to the point, grounded in reality, and hard to deny. But deny he would; they couldn’t risk it. For what it told him about her, he filed it away in his mind in the section he’d labeled “uninvited guest.”

“Hold it,” he said, brusquely, taking the headphones off. He stood up, even though he had to hunch over; he needed to stretch his legs after the hours of being cramped on the floor.

“I can’t.”

He nodded toward the dog. “If he can, you can.”

She drew back slightly. When she spoke, her tone was that of teacher on the edge of her patience to an unwilling-to-learn child. “He’s a dog, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Definitely got a mouth on her, Quinn thought.

“I noticed,” he said drily. And now that he could see her better, could see that his earlier impression had fallen short of the reality, he silently added, and I noticed you certainly are not.

He felt another inner jolt, a flash of heat and interest, more intense than the first time, fired further by thoughts of that mouth. He clamped down on it harder, angry at himself; he never let anything interfere on a job. It was why jobs kept coming.

“Then you should know he can hold it longer. How do you think they wait all night inside a house?”

“I never thought about it,” he said, although now that she’d said it, it sparked his curiosity. “Why can they?”

She seemed startled by the question. But she answered reasonably. “My guess is it’s because when they were wild, they had to, to hide from predators. Now will you please find me a bathroom?”

“Hold it,” he repeated.

“I’m a human, not a wild animal,” she snapped.

“You think humans weren’t wild once?”

“Some,” she said pointedly, “still are.”

He ignored the jab. “So hold it,” he said a third time, trusting his instincts and her body language that this was just a ruse to get out of the helicopter and onto the ground, where she likely figured she could make a run for it. Not a bad plan, and just about the only one possible given her circumstances.

“Humans haven’t needed that talent since we hit the top of the food chain,” she said.

Oh, yeah, a mouth. And a quick wit. If he wasn’t otherwise occupied, he’d like to find out just what else went on in that mind of hers.

And he interrupted his own thoughts before they could slide back to that mouth.

Teague was back then, announcing they were all fueled up. As he started to climb back into the pilot’s seat, the woman turned her plea on him. The younger man looked startled, then disconcerted, and Quinn had to admire the way she switched to the younger, possibly more vulnerable target.

“Bathroom?” Teague echoed. He flicked a glance at Quinn.

“She can wait.”

“How would you know?” There was the faintest change in her voice. Her snappishness had an undertone now, just a slight flicker. But he recognized it; he’d heard it too often not to.

Fear.

Now that he thought about it, it was somewhat amazing that it hadn’t been there before. Something he should remember, he told himself. She doesn’t scare easy, or she hides it very well.

“You’ll wait.”

“Want a mess in your pretty helicopter if we’re in the air when I can’t?”

“Then I’ll push you out.” She drew back, eyes widening. He pressed the point. “Or maybe the dog.”

She gasped, as if that thought horrified her even more. And there’s my lever, he thought, as her reaction confirmed what he had suspected from the moment he’d seen her racing across that stretch of open yard after the animal. She’d risk herself, but not the dog. She’d protect him, no matter what.

He pounded the point home.

“He won’t save as much gas as you would, but maybe some.”

She stared at him, saying nothing, but he could almost hear her mind racing, trying to analyze and assess if he really meant what he’d just said.

“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.