Bearing It All (12 page)

She charged up the steps and pulled on a rope, the only thing she could detect that would open the sliding wall of bookshelves. From her backpack next to the bed, she removed her pistol and an extra clip of ammo, placing them in the back of her jeans. She fingered through one of the bag's external pockets until she found her two knives and their scabbards that she quickly strapped around her ankles.

In case she got out of this mess alive, she removed the plastic-wrapped data sticks and slipped the bag into the front pocket of her jeans. To help with the glare of the snow, she unzipped the tiny pocket where she kept her aviator sunglasses and jammed them in place. On a final note, she shoved her packet of foil-wrapped cash into the other front pocket of her jeans.

Just as she was ready to charge outside, the one-sided firefight began. Magnus roared with enough strength to rattle the windows. Her heart struck her chest like a jackhammer. He'd have no weapons to fight with. What damage could a broadaxe possibly do to a helicopter? Why hadn't Ronan shifted?

Her gaze landed on Ronan's gun case. She trailed her fingertips along the top and found the key.
Men are just too predictable.
She unlocked the door and a .300 Ultra Mag with a high-powered scope caught her eye. “Come to Mama! We've got a helicopter to shoot down.” She slung the strap over her shoulder and helped herself to a couple of loaded clips.

On a pivot, she charged for the window, flipped the lock, and raised the glass. She'd need the element of surprise on her side. Besides, if Magnus saw her, he would carry her back inside as if she were some helpless female. She draped one leg over the windowsill and swiveled her other through before she jumped and rolled in the snow. Keeping close to the cabin, under the roof's overhang where the snow wasn't as deep, she rushed for the front.

Her suspicions were right—two helicopters. The one leaning closest to Magnus was firing at him, the wind draft from its blades causing the snow to spin in a white whirlpool. She had to protect her man. Holding the scope to her eye, the pilot came into view. She slid her glasses onto the top of her head and, on a slow exhale, squeezed the trigger. Blood splattered on the windshield. She aimed and took out the other passenger. The bird rotated as it gyrated toward earth, landing on Ronan's truck. Both vehicles exploded.

Large airborne shards of metal embedded themselves into tree trunks and sliced one of the porch posts. The heat from the fire melted the surrounding snow. Magnus rolled away from the blaze. The acrid smell of smoke burned Anisa's nose.

Magnus stood and stumbled in obvious shock in her direction, blood covering his head. She could almost imagine Ronan going spastic inside the bear, bitching about his destroyed truck. Magnus wiped blood from his eyes with his front leg. Oh, dear God. If Magnus was hurt, so was Ronan. She couldn't allow her emotions to come into play. Later, yes, but not yet. She had a mission to accomplish.

The remaining helicopter circled the area, searching for her. The thick white sweater and hat she wore would provide some camouflage, but not her jeans. Or the black .300 Ultra Mag.

In a zigzag pattern, she bolted down the path Ronan had shoveled yesterday toward the small shack. She propped against the side of the building—just long enough for the men in the remaining helicopter to sight her. If they focused on her, Magnus would retain a measure of safety. In an instant, she dropped and rolled. Bullets peppered the snow, thrashing it around like a milkshake in a blender.

Her gigantic rush of adrenaline kept her somewhat calm. She'd trained for situations like this, over and over. For months and weeks, daylight and night, rain and fog. Exercise after exercise. Every action and reaction had been drilled into her.

Crouching, she sprinted to the back of the small shed, between close-growing trees as a bullet zinged past her head. The trunk of the tree next to her split, the cracking jolting her ears. On a rapid roll, she cleared the old oak before it hit the ground.

She maneuvered on her elbows and toes through a cluster of pines. The helicopter circled overhead and fired a missile that exploded the supply building. The force of the blast shook the ground. Shattered wood from the structure dislodged the snow off the pines, further camouflaging her. Pieces of log and slivers of wood landed on her head. Pain and a warm numbness followed.

The helicopter landed. For a moment, she lay on her stomach and assessed the situation. With the high-powered scope to her eye, she saw two occupants. The copilot jumped out of his opened doorway and ran for the side of the cabin she'd exited earlier. Meanwhile, the pilot opened his door, hopped out and scanned the area, an Uzi in his grasp. She'd have to take him out first. If she climbed a tree and shot the one running toward the log house, the pilot would take off to save himself. Then she and Ronan would have no way out. She needed that helicopter.

While she organized her plan, Magnus charged around the corner of the cabin porch, waving that damn old broadaxe. Her stomach nearly dropped to her snow-covered boots. One shot from the pilot, and the bear and Ronan would both be dead. She needed to take the pilot's attention off Magnus.

She unsnapped the knives' scabbards and snatched her blades. Standing behind a large tree, she threw the first one and quickly released the second, hitting the pilot in the leg and arm. He screamed and spun in her direction, a barrage of bullets spraying the copse of trees she hid behind. Branches and wood chips hit her head and shoulders. She shook them off.

Magnus loped toward the pilot, the broadaxe clasped in his front paw, and struck the pilot in the neck with the weapon. The pilot crumpled in the snow that quickly turned red. A shot cracked in the frigid stillness and the bear roared in pain.

Anisa's heart nearly seized in fear. How badly was he hurt? A couple of rolls toward the helicopter and she was covered in snow, making her nearly undetectable. “Magnus,” she whispered, “moan so I know you're okay.” After his response, she reached to touch her grandmother's necklace to make sure she hadn't lost it. She rolled again to hide behind the tail of the aircraft and positioned the rifle to sight the lingering enemy. Where was he hiding?

No doubt the remaining man had trained as hard and extensively as she had, but her edge had always been her self-confidence. She hadn't earned the title “Cold Bitch” for nothing. Where would she go if she were in his place? She smiled slightly and raised the weapon—the roof.

A tiny glare caught her attention before a punch of agony exploded in her shoulder. She swallowed her gasp of pain. The shooter mustn't know she'd been hurt. He'd prey on her weakness.

She leaned against the side of the copter, shifted her sunglasses to her scalp, and held the rifle to her injured shoulder. Mentally obliterating the pain until all she heard was her heartbeat, she fired on a solid exhale. The shooter rolled off the top of the cabin. On a run, she jerked her revolver from the back of her snowy jeans and shot him two more times to make sure he wouldn't fire at Magnus again.

She kicked the dead man in the ass.
What person in his right mind would shoot a pissed-off bear while he's swinging a broadaxe?

She raced toward Magnus as he leaned against the helicopter. He moaned and held his upper legs out for her like arms. She wrapped her arms around him, but he slid down her front, almost causing her to lose her balance. His blood stained the snow.

She kneeled, dropped her weapons, and rubbed his ears. “We're safe. Magnus did a good job. You were so brave.” She gave him an initial visual examination. A couple of bullet nicks to his head and two wounds, one to his upper abdomen and the other to his side that bled heavily. “Oh, sweetheart. Both you and Ronan are hurt?”

Magnus nodded, sadness in his eyes.

“Ronan, make him get in the helicopter. I'll fly it to Mathe Bay. I'll get you home for medical care. Talk to him. I can't lift him into the copter by myself. I need your help. Now, sweetheart. Help him from the inside of his being.”

She put her arm around the bear and lifted his shoulders. “Magnus, if you get in this helicopter, I'll give you all the honey you want.”

Slowly, he stood and staggered.

She wrapped her arm around him. Thank goodness they only had a few feet to go to the copilot's door. Magnus's mammoth size caused them to topple a few times and his moans indicated he was in severe pain.

Ronan better do his part from inside his other half because there was no way she could lift a bear into a helicopter.
Why can't they shift even if they're hurt? I need to ask Ronan to explain that to me again.

To her relief, after a couple of tries, Magnus climbed into the helicopter. Well, mostly. His ass hung out too far for her to close the door. She tried pushing it in with her hands and he growled. “Magnus, honey, I need you all the way in. Can you sit on your ass…er…arse?” He merely grunted.

She leaned her uninjured shoulder against his plump, furry behind and shoved while she bitched to herself. “Four years at the military academy, two years at Kansas State University, survival camp in the swamps of Alabama, more schooling in Florida, and then torture endurance training with the Mossad and
all
so I could heave a bear's ass into a helicopter. Un-freaking-real. And let me tell ya, the view I'm getting will haunt me in my dreams for years.”

After much bitching, cursing, and physical exertion, she got Magnus into a sitting position, surely with Ronan's internal help, and shoved the door shut. She ran around to the pilot's side, hopped in, and locked all the doors before getting on her knees so she could put the seatbelt around her rotund passenger, which of course, didn't fit. “Magnus, if we crash, you're on your own.”

His eyes widened and glowed golden. He twisted his claws as if they were fingers and he was having a case of nerves. In addition, he blew through his nose and made funny high-pitched moans. He passed gas and she warned him he better not crap in her aircraft. He moaned some more.

She slipped on the headgear so she could communicate and began flipping switches. “Thank you, French government, for hours of flight training in most kinds of aircraft. I'm sure this is not what you had in mind.”

Magnus groaned, perhaps in fear but, most assuredly, in pain.

In a matter of minutes, they were airborne. Not knowing the frequency of Mathe Bay's police department, she flipped open the channels with Scottish preface numbers. “I'm in urgent need of information. I need the frequency of the police department of Mathe Bay in the Eastern Highlands.”

Two operators replied, both giving her the same numbers. She used them and a female voice answered. “Mathe Bay Police Force.”

“Do you have a Detective Kendric Matheson on staff and is he around so I can speak with him? This is a family emergency.”

“Hold on, hon. I see him strutting across the street with his lunch. I'll see if I can hurry him up. Please stay on this frequency.”

“Detective Matheson, here. To whom am I speaking?”

“Is this Kendric?” Anisa flew, following the clearing Ronan had made through the forest for the lane onto his property. Beyond that she wouldn't know which way to go. Of all the birds, a white owl flew ahead of the helicopter. She dodged to miss him, but he altered his flight path to keep directly in front of the aircraft. She wiped the perspiration off of her forehead and was shocked to find it dark red. No doubt she had blood all over her from helping Magnus.

The detective's voice held irritation. “Aye. Look, I've got a hot lunch in me hand I'd like to eat before it turns cold, so state yer business.”

“Ronan's cousin?” She worked up the nerve for what she was about to say.

“Aye and what would ye ken of Ronan?”

“Is this a secure and encrypted frequency?” The heater was warming the interior of the aircraft enough to melt the snow from her hair and she wiped it away with the sleeve of her sweater, noted the blood, and figured it came from the bullet wound in her shoulder. Her stomach roiled from the coppery scent of blood—Magnus's and hers—permeating the helicopter's cabin.

There were a couple low clicks. “ 'Tis now. I suggest ye spit out what ye have to say. I'm losing what bloody patience I brought to work with me today.”

Oh, Christ, he even sounded as grumpy as her man could at times. “Ronan's told me I could trust you.”

He grunted like Ronan had a habit of doing from time to time and she smiled.

“My name is Major Anisa Brosseau of the French DPSD, one of the intelligence agencies reporting directly to the Minister of Defense.”

“Ye're the one who's defected? The one everyone's been looking fer?” His voice rose in surprise.

“I ran away. I did
not
defect.” She inhaled a deep breath and ignored the pain in her shoulder and the sticky wetness that ran down her chest. “Detective Matheson, I'm prepared to turn myself over to you and only you. I have evidence I'll gladly place in your hands that will prove my innocence and who the guilty parties are. I'm in a stolen AH-1 helicopter with Ronan's bear, which is injured. He needs medical attention right away. Could you please have an ambulance at your landing strip and give me the coordinates so I know how to get there? I'm flying blind right now.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but this all sounds bloody bizarre. How do I ken ye're telling me the truth? Just how did ye get an injured bear into a helicopter?”

Magnus ripped the headgear from her and held it to his mouth. He roared and moaned and roared for so long, it seemed he was giving the entire Scottish history in bear-speak. He finally handed it back to her.

She put the communication device back on. “Sir, I hope you understood him because I didn't comprehend a bit of it.”

“Me…me bear did.” Kendric laughed. “So, ye shot down a helicopter and it landed on Ronan's beloved truck, exploding it? But Mr. Confirmed-Bachelor of our clan is nay too pissed because he's finally found a woman he l? Says he'd sooner shift yer gears than that old heap's.” He stopped laughing long enough to snort and the laughing began again. “And ye've already thrown him on his arse three times? To top it off, ye're going to give him a bairn, because…because…”