AWOL with the Operative

Sam restored his belt before he slid down in the seat as much as his tall body would allow. He closed his eyes, but, although he needed the rest, he didn’t expect to sleep. He didn’t sleep much at all these days, not even in his own bed. And with Eve Warren very much on his mind…

Sam must have dozed off after all. For how long he had no idea. The next thing he knew, the pilot was calling to him.

“Agent McDonough, wake up! I need you!”

Sam didn’t like the insistent, concerned tone in Redfeather’s voice. Shaking off the fog of sleep in his head, he sat up on his seat, instantly alert.

“What is it? Something wrong?”

“I hope not. That out there has been tailing us.”

The pilot nodded in the direction of the window on his side. Sam leaned over to get a better view through the glass. That proved to be a sizable helicopter of the military variety.

“How long has it been out there?”

“Not sure. But it has to be a powerful chopper to keep up with us.”

Not only keep up with them, Sam realized, but overtake them. The craft was flying level now with their plane a few hundred yards straight off to their left.

“Maybe it’s an official chopper patrolling the region. Just checking us out to make sure we’re legitimate.”

Ken Redfeather shook his head. “I don’t think so, not in this area. Anyway, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“What’s happening?” Eve demanded to know.

Sam had forgotten that, except for a very small pane on either side, she had no window back there. He turned his head to make sure she was all right. “Probably nothing. Just keep low until we know,” he ordered her curtly. He swung his attention back to their pilot. “Can you rouse them on your radio? Ask them what they’re doing out there?”

“I can try.”

Before Redfeather could act, the helicopter suddenly and rapidly closed the gap between them until it was no more than a couple of hundred feet away. A door in the side of the craft rolled back, revealing a burly, bearded man kneeling there in the opening with a rifle raised to his shoulder. Within seconds, Sam could hear bullets pinging against the body of their plane.

Sonofabitch!

“They’re shooting at us!” Redfeather shouted.

Sam concurred with a caustic “I noticed that.”

He knew what their objective was. Eve Warren. He also knew who they were. Had to be Victor DeMarco’s goons ordered to bring their plane down. But how in hell had they learned his method of transport?

No time to worry about that. Somehow he had to get them out of this mess, but first—

“You okay?” he asked, whipping his head around. “You weren’t hit, were—?”

He broke off in exasperation. Although she managed to shake her head, she went on sitting there upright, looking too numb with terror to move.

“Didn’t I tell you to get down?”

“Stop bullying me!”

“Then, dammit, do as you’re told.”

The look of alarm on her face was joined now by rancor directed at him. But she complied this time, squeezing down as low as possible in her seat.

Satisfied, Sam faced forward again, snatching his Glock out of his shoulder holster. Not that it would be of much use at this distance against a powerful rifle, but he felt better with the gun in his grip. He scanned the sky out his window. Not a cloud in sight. Wait a minute. There, below them!

“We’ve got cloud cover under us,” he informed Redfeather. “Looks big enough to hide in.”

“It’s a low snow mass.”

“Man, I don’t care if it’s a typhoon. Just get us into it, and fast.”

Ken Redfeather obeyed him, pushing the yoke forward. The nose of the plane went down, sending them into a dive. Sam steadied himself against the plunge, hoping Eve was hanging on. And hoping even more that Redfeather had the skill to get them out of this steep descent once they were buried in the cloud mass.

If the helicopter was swooping after them, Sam had no indication of it. At least there was no further gunfire from the chopper. None that he could detect anyway.

Small comfort, Sam thought wryly, remembering his squad supervisor’s certainty. It looked like Frank Kowsloski had been right about Eve Warren. That she did know something vital enough for Victor DeMarco to want her taken down. In this case, literally.

So much for a simple pickup and delivery. Squad supervisor or not, he was going to blister Frank when he got back. If he got back.

A fog closed in on the plane, cloaking them with its thickness. Snowflakes swirled around them, adding to their cover. They were in the cloud mass.

To Sam’s relief, Ken Redfeather pulled them out of the dive. They were flying level again. He searched through the windows on both sides. No sign of the chopper. They were safe. At least for the moment.

“Where are we anyway?” he wanted to know.

“On the border between British Columbia and Alberta,” Redfeather said.

“Not anywhere near Calgary, I suppose, since we haven’t stopped for refueling.”

“No, Calgary is still a long way off.”

Sam checked on Eve. “You holding up?”

“Just dandy,” she answered him dryly.

He guessed that was all the reassurance he was going to get. He wasn’t going to ask for more. He’d had enough of her obstinate crap. Besides, he had another concern to address. He switched his attention back to Redfeather.

“I don’t know about you, Ken, but I think it’s time you got on your radio and called out a distress. Let them know what’s happening up here.”

“I’ll try, but I’m not sure I’m in range of one of the towers. Bush pilots have been complaining for years about the dead zones out here.” Redfeather reached for his mike. “Let’s see if I can reach—” He broke off, staring in alarm down at the instrument panel.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The oil pressure is dropping—and dropping fast. One of those bullets must have struck a push rod tube, and now we’re leaking oil at the bottom of the cowling.”

Great. Another freaking complication. “How bad is that?”

“Real bad. You want it straight?”

“Let’s have it.”

“Without oil, the engine will lock up and quit. I’m surprised she hasn’t already—”

There was a sudden, sickly sputtering. It was happening. The engine was seizing up. Sam heard a horrified gasp from the rear seat, and then there was nothing but a terrible stillness. The engine was dead.

The plane drifted for a few seconds, and then Sam could feel it settling as it lost altitude on its descent through the cloud cover.

“I’ll try to glide us in for a safe landing, folks, but it’ll be a miracle if there’s a clearing down there. Better make sure your belts are tight before you fold yourselves into a crash position.”

Sam whirled around in his seat, barking a command at Eve. “Brace yourself! Head on your knees!”

But she knew the drill. Her head was already lowered, face hidden against her knees. Sam risked a quick glance through the window. They had broken through the cloud mass. The ground was coming up on them swiftly. There was nothing down there resembling a clearing, only the dense, unbroken forest.

Sam ducked down, straining against his belt to get his head on his knees. A few seconds later, they plowed into the forest. He could hear the undercarriage tearing apart as the plane, nose down, smashed through the limbs of the trees.

The action jerked him up, slamming his head against the window on his side. He felt a sharp, shooting pain, and then everything went black.

Chapter 2

For a full moment after the plane came to rest Eve was too shaken to move. Then slowly, carefully, she lifted her head from her knees. Dazed. She was so dazed she was imagining she was tipped over at a crazy angle. That had to be the explanation.

It was only when she struggled to sit up on the seat that she realized she was at a crazy angle. Or at least the plane was.

But as rough as the impact of crashing into the forest was, it had been softened somewhat by all the branches that had snatched at them on the way down. Must be the reason why, when she tested her own limbs, they seemed to work just fine. No other injuries she was aware of, either.

Shaking her head to clear it, Eve tried to see through the thick gloom of the cabin. It was hard to distinguish anything in the dim light of the forest and with the broken boughs of the evergreens plastered against the shattered windows on all sides.

She became conscious then of something else in the cabin. The awful silence. Sam McDonough, the pilot! Why wasn’t she hearing them? Why weren’t they stirring?

For another long, stunned moment she was too fearful of the answer to move. But she couldn’t go on sitting here like this. She had to know, had to help them. If it wasn’t too late. But she wouldn’t let herself believe that it was.

She made an effort to get to her feet, and couldn’t. The seat belt, of course. She was still tightly restrained by it. Her fingers were unsteady, but she managed to unbuckle the belt and stagger to her feet. With her sight adjusted now to the murky light, she immediately learned the worst when, supporting herself against the tilt of the plane, she leaned over the back of the pilot’s seat.

Ken Redfeather’s head was at an unnatural angle. The kind of angle that said his neck was broken. His eyes were open. And sightless. There was no question of it. The man was dead. Had Charlie looked like this after his own death? The possibility was so unbearable that Eve thrust the image out of her mind.

She willed herself not to start wailing in shock and sorrow. Sam McDonough needed her attention. She moved on to him. He was slumped against the passenger door. Cracks radiated in the glass of the window where his head rested, an indication he must have suffered a severe blow when his head struck the window.

No evidence of any blood, but she could detect a sizable lump already swelling on the side of his head. She prayed he was still alive.

His collar was open at his throat. Searching for a pulse, her hand brushed against the stubble on his jaw. She tried not to think how warm his skin was, how touching him like this felt both wrong and right at the same time.

Stop it. There’s nothing wrong or right about it. It’s simply a necessity in a bad situation.

To her relief, she located a pulse in his neck. It was strong and even—a confirmation that he was unconscious and not dead. But maybe injured internally, perhaps with a concussion, and needing medical care.

What should she do? What could she do?

There was the radio. Call out a Mayday? Impossible. Even if the radio was still working, she had no idea how to operate it. Besides, Ken Redfeather had said it was unreliable in the air and down here in the forest…

Eve had never felt so helpless, so close to outright panic. She gazed wildly around the tight cabin, as if looking for a miracle. There was no miracle. There was only another serious discovery. Through the window on the pilot’s side, she could see gas dripping down from the crumpled wing. And she could smell it through a gap in the glass. There was something else she could smell. Smoke!

Dear God, the plane must be on fire somewhere, and if the flames reached those wings where the fuel was stored—

You can’t go on standing here doing nothing.

She had to act, had to get both Sam and herself out of the plane before it went up like a firestorm. The door on the pilot’s side provided no exit. It was blocked by a heavy tree limb. It would have to be the passenger door.

Summoning what she hoped was a sufficient measure of strength and fortitude, Eve leaned over Sam as far as she could. It wasn’t easy getting a grip on those shoulders of his, not when they were so wide and hard as stone. But she somehow managed to lever him away from the door in slow degrees and finally to heave him over to the left.

She was puffing from exertion by then. Although the door latch was exposed now, she had to pause long enough to catch her breath. She used the opportunity to check on the fire. She could see the source of it now through the cracked windshield. Little wisps of smoke were curling up from the nose where the engine was located. No visible flames yet, but if she didn’t hurry—

Eve took up the battle again, straining to reach the latch. No good. The only way she could get at it was from the front. There was a narrow gap between the door and the passenger seat. Wedging herself in the opening, body twisting and squirming, she managed to squeeze through. The awkward effort cost her her balance, almost landing her in Sam’s lap.

Righting herself, she attacked the latch. The door was stuck. What if she couldn’t get it open? What if they were trapped in here?

She refused to accept that. This time she put her shoulder to it, shoving ferociously with an equally fierce curse of frustration. “Open up, damn you!”

The door popped wide with a suddenness that almost pitched her out into the snow. Recovering herself again, she realized that her purse was getting in the way, hindering her every move as it swayed like a pendulum from her shoulder. She tossed the bag out on the ground.

The action reminded her that she had to free Sam of his seat belt. Twisting herself around, she groped for the catch on the belt. Her fumbling fingers couldn’t avoid coming in contact with his waist. Again she experienced that sensation of firm, warm flesh, of something intimate and forbidden just beneath the fabric of his shirt. It was a giddy pleasure that made her want to—

The catch snapped open, releasing Sam. Backing quickly away from him, Eve lowered herself to the ground, leaned into the opening and caught him by the ankles.

This part isn’t going to be easy.

And it wasn’t. However, gravity was on her side this time. The crooked plane was tipped to the right, making her effort all downhill. With a combination of tugging and sheer force of will, she eased him out over the side where she was finally able to drop him into the snow.

What he might have suffered in the process, Eve didn’t allow herself to imagine. Her struggle wasn’t done. Raising his arms over his head and gripping him by his big hands, she dragged him inch by inch away from the plane. He was a heavy, solid man, but the snow helped, letting her slide his body over its slick surface.

Eve delivered him a safe distance away from the hazardous plane. Winded, she wanted nothing more than to collapse at his side. Not possible. She had remembered something. His coat. He would freeze out here without it.

As much as she wanted to keep far away from the plane, she had no choice. The flames were visible now, licking slowly but steadily in the direction of the wings.

There was a haze of smoke in the cabin when she returned to the plane, making it difficult to see anything at all. She dared not climb inside. Stretching out her hands as far as they would reach, head averted to keep from inhaling the fumes, she felt around for his coat where he had dropped it between the front seats.

Eve had paid no attention to what their pilot had been wearing, but she remembered that Sam’s coat was a dark leather. When her fingers came in contact with a smoothness that could only mean leather, she knew she had the right coat. No telling where his gun had landed when the plane crashed. Nor did she have the time to look for it.

Grabbing up the coat, she spared a last glance at the lifeless figure of Ken Redfeather. Guilt seized her at the necessity of abandoning him. It couldn’t be helped.

Hugging the thick coat to her breasts, and pausing only long enough to retrieve her shoulder bag, Eve trotted back to the pine tree under which she had deposited Sam on his back. She didn’t think she had the strength left in her to lift him into a sitting position and support him long enough to get him into the coat. Crouching beside him, she did the next best thing, spreading the coat over him and tucking it snugly against his sides.

The coat was enough to keep out the worst of the cold. But it was no protection when a minute later, just as she had feared, the heat of the fire reached the wings containing the fuel. There was a horrific blast, followed almost immediately by a second explosion.

Eve’s reaction, when she flung herself full length over Sam’s inert body, was an instinctive one. Or so she told herself. Face buried against his neck, she heard the hiss of hot metal raining down on the snow. Thankfully, none of those shards fell on them.

There was snow, too, in the air. She noticed it when she turned her head. It must have been drifting down in feathery flakes even before the crash, but Eve hadn’t been conscious of it until now. It was a soft, gentle snowfall. An ironic contrast to the violence she had just experienced.

There was something else she was acutely aware of. The hardness of the body she was covering. Even through the layers of the coat, she could feel his muscular strength. More than that. With her nose pressed against the exposed skin of his throat, she was able to detect his scent. The faint, clean fragrance of his soap mingled with something masculine. Something that was distinctly Sam McDonough.

Eve had a sudden longing to do more than inhale him. A longing to flick her tongue over that warm throat where his pulse beat a seductive rhythm. A longing to taste him.

Insanity. Don’t go there. Not with a man you don’t like and who doesn’t like you.

Hastily pulling away from him, she rolled over and sat up in the snow, drawing her knees to her chest. Tragic though it was, the fire made a welcome distraction. The crackling blaze by now had engulfed the entire plane. Several of the trees nearest the aircraft had gone up like torches, but fortunately the snow prevented the flames from spreading into the forest.

Eve knew she should be thankful for their safety. And she was. But a new reality was beginning to settle on her. A harsh one. The reality that they were on their own in the Canadian wilderness, and no one knew where they were.

Except—

A sudden recollection occurred to her. Last spring she had edited an article for her magazine about recreational aviation. The author had described the safety features of small, private airplanes. One of those features was a unit that automatically sent out signals in the event that a plane went down.

What was the thing called? Eve searched her memory. Emergency Locator Transmitter. That was it. And if Ken Redfeather’s plane had been equipped with an ELT, then—

Forget it. If such a device had existed, then it would be toast by now in the conflagration that was still raging. There could be no prospect of the plane being found and its survivors rescued. At least not by that method.

No question about it. Their plight was a dismal, desperate one. Forced down in the middle of nowhere, where the vastness was still locked in winter. An enemy somewhere out there who might not be satisfied that she was no longer a threat. And all of it complicated by a difficult man who shared this calamity with her.

Sam McDonough, who from the beginning had made no secret about what he thought of her. Never mind asking herself why. He just had.

She looked down at him, her eyes lingering on his mouth as she remembered his gruff commands to her. And even if the wide mouth that had issued those commands was the most sensual male mouth Eve had ever laid eyes on, the man behind it was still unpleasant.

This isn’t helping. You can’t go on sitting here like this doing nothing.

Right. But whatever decisions confronted her, they had to wait. First she needed to make some effort to rouse Sam.

And don’t let yourself wonder if that might not be possible. Just do it.

How? Exactly how was she supposed to manage that? There was only one way she could think of. Getting to her knees and scooping up a handful of snow, Eve leaned over him. She started to apply the snow, but her hand paused in its descent, her gaze captured by the sight of his face.

It was a strong, compelling face beneath a thatch of dark brown hair. A seasoned face with angular features and a square jaw. There was a certain toughness about it that didn’t surprise her. What she didn’t expect was the complete lack of tautness. A tightness of expression that had clearly been there during his conscious state, hinting at some dark, inner struggle. Or was she just imagining the whole thing?

All right, so you’re sexually attracted to this man. You’d better control your susceptibility if you don’t want to get hurt.

It was a sensible instruction. Eve obeyed it as she briskly rubbed the snow over his face, hoping its wet cold would wake him. Praying he wasn’t in some coma she couldn’t penetrate.

“Sam,” she called to him urgently, “can you hear me?”

Her treatment must have worked, but not as she’d anticipated. Instead of stirring slowly, he startled her when he came to with a sudden jerk of his body, as if shocked out of a deep sleep. The next thing Eve knew she was gazing into a pair of brown eyes with amber lights in them.

Those eyes focused on her face bent over his. There was puzzlement in them. She waited for the familiar scowl when he recognized her. She didn’t get it. There was something entirely different. A grin of pleased discovery that spread across his rugged features. It was accompanied by his deep, rich voice with a low but untroubled tone that amazed her as much as the words that came out of his mouth.

“Whoever you are, angel, please tell me that we’re more, much more, than just casual acquaintances.”

Eve caught her breath in disbelief. This was a man she didn’t know. She was looking into the eyes of a stranger. What on earth was happening?

When she was able to breathe again, she uttered a hoarse “You can’t be serious. You must know I’m Eve. Eve Warren.”

“Hello, Eve Warren,” he said, caressing her name with a slow softness that, in spite of her promise to herself, sent a warmth spreading through her whole body.

Thoroughly confused, she sat back on her heels, afraid to ask but knowing she had to. “But you remember everything else, don’t you?”

“Sorry. Afraid I don’t.”

Her questions came swiftly then, one after the other. “Not what happened? Not where we are? But you know who you are, don’t you? You have to know that.”

To all of those questions, he replied by shaking his head from side to side.

His head injury from smacking so hard against the window, she thought. A trauma apparently sufficient to have short-circuited his memory. Maybe only temporarily. Maybe all she had to do was prompt him, and the rest would follow.

“You’re Sam McDonough,” she told him. No response. She tried again. “You’re an FBI agent.”

No use. He looked at her blankly. She hadn’t triggered his memory. Like it or not, she had to accept his condition. God in heaven, she realized suddenly, on top of all else, she was stuck out here with a man suffering from amnesia!

He must have read the concern on her face. “Don’t worry, Eve. I’m running on empty now, but I’ll get it all back.”

He was worried about her, not himself. What’s more, his reassurance had been expressed in a kind voice. Even the smile that followed it was a pleasant one. Nothing like the hard cynicism before the crash. Was it possible that someone’s attitude, perhaps his very nature as well, could change so totally like this? If so, she was ready to be thankful for it.

“The thing is—” he started to say, then broke off, his nose wrinkling as he sniffed the air. “I smell smoke.” Before she could explain, he lifted his head from the ground in order to gaze at the now-blackened remains of the plane. The flames that had consumed it were beginning to die down. “What happened?”

“We went down in the woods, and the plane caught on fire.”

“Everyone get out?”

“Not our pilot. He died in the crash itself.” Like Charlie, she thought, the pain of his death registering all over again. “With the plane burning as it was,” she managed to explain, “there was no time for me to try to get his body out of the wreckage.”