Authors: Sharon Calvin
Caitlyn screamed and scuttled backward until she hit the bed. Blood marked a trail across the fallen hijacker’s torso and the smell of gunpowder burned her nose for the second time that night.
“You will do as you are told or I will eliminate your crew. One man at a time,” he said. “Get up. I am moving you to another location.” He motioned her toward the door with his gun.
She stood, her leg muscles quivering and her eyes burning with unshed tears. That son of a bitch would
not
see her cry. She straightened to full height, grimly satisfied that in her combat boots she stood taller than him, and gave her very best regal glare. “I demand to see my crew. To ensure they’re safe and their injuries have been taken care of.”
A muscle in his jaw bunched and his eyes narrowed. Shit, Caity, poked any rabid pit bulls lately? She held her ground when he stalked over to deliver a backhanded slap.
When she regained her balance she even produced a smirk, despite the taste of blood. Hell, she’d grown up in a houseful of displaced kids with belligerent attitudes and never once walked away from a fight. She folded her arms across her chest, mostly to hide the tremors that had started with the deadly burst of gunfire. “My crew.”
The man’s face darkened and he exhaled sharply. She mentally braced for another slap, or more likely, a fist. But he won back his control and grabbed her upper arm with a grip that would leave bruises. He dragged her from the room without another word.
* * *
Stillman finished bandaging Ryan’s shoulder wishing again for more drugs and better supplies. He should have brought his normal field kit, but it was supposed to have been a simple training mission. Hell, the way things turned out, he should have brought a gun.
“Hey, it’s gotta beat conditions...in a war zone,” Ryan quipped with an unsteady voice.
Shock had him drifting in and out of consciousness. He needed blood, antibiotics and some assurance one of those maniacs wouldn’t decide to put a bullet through his head like they had—
“Yeah, we haven’t been shot at for hours now. And I’m guessin’ we’re not likely to see a sandstorm anytime soon either,” Joe added. He sat on the far side of the bed and stared at Stillman with the unasked question shining in his somber brown eyes. Would Ryan make it?
Stillman gave Joe a brief nod before gently covering Ryan with a cotton blanket. “Hell, this is the fucking Ritz. We’ve got a latrine with running water and dormitory beds with honest-to-god sheets.” He scanned Ryan’s pale face. Barring infection, or another round of bullets, he should recover.
“Try to get some sleep. If we limit pain meds to nighttime, you’ll get more rest and mend quicker.” Unsure of how long they’d be stuck without help, he decided to err on the side of caution and ration their limited medical supplies.
Ryan’s eyes drifted shut, then opened with a start. “Caity. Where did they take her? You don’t think they’d—” He stopped and swallowed audibly, looking scared and surprisingly vulnerable. His eyes were wide with naked fear and frustration—emotions Stillman could relate to.
None of them had put a name to their worst worry for Caitlyn. He grasped Ryan’s good shoulder and squeezed. Maybe if they never said aloud what they were all thinking, she’d somehow be okay. Hell, if they were all moving into the land of denial, might as well build a condo—
The rattle of the door’s lock jerked Stillman’s attention from Ryan. He stood and turned, putting his body in front of Ryan and Joe’s. In his mind they’d become his crew. And while it would gall the hell out of Queeny, he outranked them all. Especially when it came to dealing with ruthless enemies.
As if conjured by their collective psyches, Caitlyn stumbled through the doorway. Ray Atwah followed, one hand clasping her upper arm, the other holding a MAC-10 aimed in their general direction. Her eyes widened in obvious surprise, then she gave a lopsided grin.
Stillman’s belly tensed and his hands clenched. The corner of her mouth was swollen and smeared with blood.
“Wow, the gang’s all here,” she said with obvious bravado. A shadow flashed over her face and her grin faltered.
Shit, she was thinking about Clay, the young swimmer who’d been dumped in the Gulf.
“Silence!” Atwah yelled and shook her roughly.
Stillman took a step forward, but Caitlyn mouthed
no
in warning even as the automatic weapon centered on his chest.
“Stop. Your medical services are appreciated, but are not essential. Tonight you will be sharing this room. In the morning you will begin repair of the helicopter. If it cannot fly by Friday—” he shrugged “—then I have no more use for any of you.”
He shoved Caitlyn forward, then stepped back and slammed shut the metal door. Stillman caught Caitlyn against his chest, the flutter of her heart more welcome than the press of her breasts. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair as he inhaled her now-familiar scent. He closed his eyes, his senses filling with fierce possessiveness. More than anyone, or anything else in the world, she, damn it all to hell, belonged to
him.
She gave a shaky laugh and shifted against him. “I’m okay. Really. How’s Ryan?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his.
Stillman let his arms drop to his sides and exhaled some of his frustration. She was okay. He could see it in her unguarded expression.
“Stable. I took out two bullets and stitched him up. He could use a blood transfusion and better drugs. Now that you’re here, safe and sound, he’ll do even better.” Hell, they all would.
She straightened even more, settling her royal mantle firmly upon her shoulders. The queen was ready to resume her duties. Tough, he had no intention of giving in so easily. She narrowed her eyes. He’d swear she’d heard his thought and taken it as a direct challenge.
“Joe, did you get a chance to inspect
Fly Baby
?” she asked, sidestepping him and walking briskly to Ryan’s bedside.
Fly Baby
?
He twisted to catch Joe’s reaction. Surely she hadn’t given the antiquated-government-issued-hardware a stupid pet name. Joe’s grin said differently.
He’d circled the bed to envelop Caitlyn in a bear hug, rocking her from side to side. “Nah, but that old bird’s used to your slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am landings. We’ll get her back in the air by Friday. No problem.”
“Hey, I’m the one who deserves a hug,” Ryan complained from behind them.
Stillman shook his head as Joe released Caitlyn. How the hell could she maintain crew objectivity if they were all so damn kissy-faced?
Okay, maybe that was a little green-tinged, but still...ah, shit, her crew would walk through a minefield if she asked. He rubbed the back of his neck. Fuck. So would he.
Stillman gave her and Ryan privacy by retreating to the third bed under a small barred window. Instead of worrying about Caitlyn’s leadership style, he should be working on an escape plan. Joe, familiar with the area they’d flown over, estimated they were on a private island on the western edge of the middle Keys. So they weren’t far from help and—
“Busy planning our great escape?” Joe asked and plunked his ass on the end of the narrow bed.
Startled, Stillman flicked a glance across the room. Caitlyn sat on Ryan’s cot, leaning over him and speaking softly. “Booted you out, did they?” he groused.
Two weeks ago, he’d have laughed his butt off if someone had suggested he’d be jealous of a guy with bullet holes in him. He twisted his neck trying to loosen the tension. Now just look at him.
Joe shrugged. “It’s okay. They’re close.”
Stillman thought he’d hidden his reaction, but Joe smirked at him.
“Brother-sister close, dickhead. Me, I’m kinda like a kissin’-cousin.” He punched Stillman’s shoulder. “Gotcha.”
His expression sobered and he lowered his voice. “The Coast Guard doesn’t like to lose personnel and equipment. They would have launched a search plane, maybe another Jayhawk to look for us. Even if they don’t pick up Clay right away, they’ll be thinking hostile action. We should be out of here by dawn.”
Stillman began shaking his head before Joe finished. “We can’t assume anyone is going to come get us,” he said. “If they show up, fine, but we need a plan in place in case they don’t, or can’t locate us.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.” He grinned. “Sitting around waiting isn’t my style.”
“We better make sure they don’t decide Ryan’s a liability.” Stillman watched realization harden Joe’s eyes.
“Since they think you’re just a doctor, we’ll convince them Caitlyn can’t fly without a copilot,” Joe said.
Neither one voiced their fear Ryan could be eliminated like the injured hijacker had been.
Jacksonville, FL,
Wednesday, 21 September, 2210 hours
Valerie Wooten sipped a glass of pinot noir then carefully tapped another entry into her smartphone, while a cable news station kept her company with background noise of world events. Tomorrow was going to be very busy, a board meeting, another interminable staff meeting and—
Her cell phone began playing Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl,” generating a sad smile. Her admin assistant loved loading different songs on her phone whenever she was minding it for overseas calls. This song had been Valerie’s husband’s favorite.
“Hello?”
Static then rapid-fire Arabic filled her ear. The words didn’t make sense until she realized she was hearing both sides of the conversation this time. One voice demanded money and more personnel, the other refused until he had proof of something to do with a helicopter. Between the bursts of static and equally loud bursts of foul language she caught reference to a bomb.
“Oh my God,” she said automatically in Arabic without thinking, then jerked the phone away from her ear. The display showed the caller’s ID was blocked and that the call was still connected. She stabbed the Disconnect bar with a shaking finger. Then dropped the phone and jumped back as if expecting it to explode.
Her
caller ID was not blocked.
Her
identity was readily available.
She wrapped her arms around her waist and moaned. It had been
her
voice that said
Oh my God
in Arabic without conscious thought.
* * *
Several hours later Valerie’s fear had been supplanted by anger. She’d had no luck connecting with anyone of consequence at the local FBI office. Frustrated by the lack of response, she began surfing the national cable news channels, then the local stations, looking for anything that might match the caller’s threats.
She’d already hit the Up arrow for the next channel when the TV chatter grabbed her attention. She returned to the station in time to see a newswoman standing in harsh floodlights outside a hospital emergency entrance while BREAKING NEWS scrolled across the bottom of the screen. A chill rolled over Valerie’s skin like a gust before a vicious storm.
She boosted the sound with the remote and leaned forward on the couch.
“A spokesperson for the US Coast Guard has confirmed a rescue swimmer was recovered from the Gulf tonight. Initial reports indicated a helicopter had gone down during a storm off the coast of Tampa while attempting to rescue survivors from a boat collision. We now have an unconfirmed report of a hijacking. Jim, can you tell us what you’ve heard?”
The camera shifted to a handheld video of a Coast Guard helicopter landing at the hospital while a male voiceover picked up the story. Valerie stood and walked closer to the large plasma-screen TV, dread and anger tugging her forward.
“An anonymous hospital source claimed the rescued Coast Guard swimmer had been shot. He was conscious when brought in, but there’s no word on his current condition. Apparently, the three men he rescued smuggled automatic weapons onboard the helicopter. That’s all we have at this time, Jeanne. We’ll let you know as we get more information. This is Jim Rastor with—”
Valerie hit the Mute button and picked up her cell phone. If the FBI didn’t respond to her next call, she’d get hold of that TV reporter. Because no way had that overheard call and news report been a coincidence.
Chapter Six
Egret Isle,
FL,
Wednesday, 21 September, 2225 hours
Caitlyn gently brushed Ryan’s hair from his clammy brow. He’d finally drifted into a fitful sleep. Tears burned but she kept them contained. A commanding officer could be many things but weak wasn’t one of them. He mumbled something, then shifted and grimaced. She shushed him, running her hand down his arm.
Her crew needed her to be strong, to make the right decisions, to get them off the island safely. She closed her eyes. Her first battle would be with Stillman. A colonel
and
a doctor, he was better suited to giving orders than taking them. His experience she’d use, but no way she’d play Suzy-Soldier to his Colonel-Commander.
She slowly eased off Ryan’s bed, careful not to wake him. Stillman and Joe were watching her from across the room. Only one set of eyes caused a quiver deep inside. Blue and full of...what? She frowned. Heat, yeah, but something else...something she couldn’t put a label on.
Or was she afraid to see anything more revealing in their blue depths? Like that their situation was even more dire than she thought? Or worse, that he didn’t have any faith in her ability to get them out of it?
She lengthened her stride. Concentrate on the positive. Ryan was alive. She stopped next to the bed Stillman and Joe sat on and scanned the room for the first time. Made of concrete block no more than twelve by twenty-five feet long, there were two wide metal doors along one wall. One she’d been shoved through, the other, she fervently hoped led to a bathroom. Two small barred windows near the ceiling made it look like a basement. The building, however, sat aboveground some hundred yards from the mansion she’d been taken to first.
Caitlyn settled onto the end of the bed with Stillman and Joe. “Okay, let’s get down to figuring out what the hell they want with us. Did anyone check the room for cameras or listening devices?” She’d found several in the room she’d been held in before—including the bathroom, the perverts.
Stillman nodded. “Yeah, near as I can tell, it’s clean.”
She cocked her head at him. “Were you ever taken prisoner before?”
“No, but I’ve helped transport more than a few of our rescued guys out.” He frowned and lightly brushed a knuckle over the damaged corner of her mouth. “Which one did this?”
She shook her head slightly. “Does it matter?”
His eyes turned molten and his jaw hardened. “Which. One.”
“We know two of them. Or at least the names they were using when we picked them up,” Joe hastily interjected as if trying to short-circuit the electrified atmosphere. “Ray Atwah appears to be the one in charge. The short one jumping through hoops for him is Mohammed Ali Yasin.”
Caitlyn tried to steel her reaction, but the very mention of Atwah’s name sent a ripple of dread down her spine. He was the one they had to fear. He’d killed without registering a single emotion on his swarthy face.
Stillman nodded once and repeated the name, “Ray Atwah,” softly, as if tucking it away in a special place.
Caitlyn shivered. Unlike the hijacker, Stillman’s eyes boiled over with emotion.
“I don’t know the name of the guy he had killed,” Joe added, jerking Caitlyn’s attention away from Stillman.
She stilled while blood pulsed at her temples. “How did you hear about that?”
Two pairs of eyes narrowed at her. “Who are you talking about?” Stillman asked.
Caitlyn licked dry lips. “The smelly one in back of the helo with Yasin.” She didn’t see a need to explain the circumstances of his murder. Joe and Stillman exchanged looks that excluded her and she punched the mattress. “What?” Then it was clear. “My God, he killed someone else, didn’t he.”
She jumped to her feet. “That’s why he moved me in here.” She smoothed both hands over her hair then down her stiff neck, lacing fingers together behind her head. “That means they’re down to only two men.” A jolt of hopeful energy set her feet into motion, pacing back and forth beside the bed. “We need to get out now. Before Atwah can get reinforcements to the island.”
“No.”
Caitlyn whirled to face Stillman, her hands fisted. “No? Are you crazy? We’re all together. Between the three of us we can carry Ryan and get
Fly Baby
’s landing gear unstuck. Even if it’s broken, she’ll still fly. Nothing’s wrong with her engines.” Mentally calculating remaining fuel and emergency procedures she didn’t comprehend Stillman’s words at first.
“...we’ll all get shot long before you can get the turbines spooled up.” His steady gaze didn’t waver. “We can’t be sure there are only two left. There could be twenty or more men stationed around the perimeter of this place. It’s not worth the risk until we know what we’re up against.”
Caitlyn kneeled on the bed in front of him, not ready to give up on her dream of escape so quickly. “It is worth it. Once they get reinforcements we’ll be stuck here. They’ll separate us again and...and I won’t get another chance to fly us all out.”
She sat back on her heels, hands resting on her thighs. Jesus, was being separated her real worry? Was she more afraid of what they might do to her than what happened to her crew?
Stillman grabbed her shoulders and glared at her. “Look, I’m not questioning your ability to fly. How many times have you been shot at?” His fingers dug painfully into her muscles. “I’m not gonna let some damn fanatic blow your stubborn head off!” He was shouting, his eyes flickering blue.
“Doc, you should take your hands off the lieutenant,” Joe said in a too-quiet voice.
Stillman immediately released her, his palms held out to the side. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “Lieutenant, I respect the hell out of you and your crew. But we’re unarmed, and I’ll wager a year’s pay neither of you’ve ever killed anyone.” He cast a quick glance at Joe then back to her before sighing heavily. “You aren’t used to people like Atwah. You haven’t seen what he’s capable of.”
His tone implied he was very familiar with the likes of the hijacker. Well, yeah, with at least two tours of duty in the Middle East, he’d likely seen things she didn’t want to know about. Caitlyn stared at him for several long seconds and chewed her lower lip. After seeing Atwah kill one of his own men without so much as blinking, she had a pretty good idea what he was capable of doing.
She straightened her back. A good leader earned trust by giving it. And listening to those with more experience. She held her hand out to Stillman. “Okay, ‘Doc,’ I’ll consider your flight plan.” At least until she could plot a better one. She eased back onto her heels and crossed her arms over her chest. “Let’s hear it.”
* * *
Stillman looked from Caitlyn to Joe. Joe sat forward, tension shimmering off him like desert-sand heat waves. Caitlyn, with her do-not-touch posture, looked as receptive as Congress to a military appropriations bill. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just say, ‘Stuff your opinions and do what you’re told.’ Okay, think of it as a plea to panicked parents facing emergency surgery on their baby. They needed reassurance that what they were doing was the right thing, even though they were scared shitless.
“First we need to find out what they want with the Jayhawk. I think we can assume they want the helicopter to deliver some kind of deadly payload. Whether bomb, biological weapon or even radioactive material, we need to do whatever it takes to prevent deployment.” He paused to gauge their reaction to his words.
“Now, if an opportunity presents itself and we can overpower Atwah or Yasin, you bet your ass we’ll take it. I’m afraid I don’t know diddly about Coast Guard training. Do either of you know how to handle a gun?”
“Yeah, we all regularly rotate through weapons training. Even before becoming part of Homeland Security stints in drug interdictions required armed response,” Joe replied.
Stillman nodded. They spent the next twenty or thirty minutes hashing out ways to gather intelligence and watch for escape opportunities. From Caitlyn’s description of her room in the house, he lost all hope that the property had been recently taken over by the bad guys. It appeared the bad guys owned the island, increasing his fear that it was heavily fortified.
After planning out their little war-game, Joe stood and gestured toward the empty bunk near Ryan. “I’m go to rack out for a bit.”
Caitlyn slipped off Stillman’s bed and after an awkward glance at her crew, she shrugged one shoulder. “I need to ask Joe about Clay.” With that, she walked over and sat down by Joe. The quiet murmur of their voices reinforced the feeling of isolation that suddenly engulfed Stillman.
He rested his back against the damp block wall then bounced his head against the hard surface several times. He was a flippin’ idiot. He drew his leg up to prop an arm across a knee. Hell, he didn’t blame her for putting distance between them.
He’d overreacted. Oh, yeah. He closed his eyes and thunked his head against the wall one more time; he’d reacted like a man did when his woman was threatened. He aborted his reach for a pack of nonexistent cigarettes. Shit. What a time to give up smoking.
He glanced over at Caitlyn.
His woman
. Now there was a primitive thought. Her fingers deftly unbraided her hair before finger-combing it into a mass of red waves. Anticipating the headshake didn’t lessen its impact to his groin. Oblivious to the effect she was having on him, she continued running her fingers through her hair while listening to Joe.
Unable to stand the torture any longer, Stillman closed his eyes. At least he hadn’t directly challenged her authority in front of Joe, an unforgivable sin in anyone’s book.
“Care for some company?”
Stillman started at Caitlyn’s soft voice. She stood in front of him looking entirely too vulnerable with the beginnings of a bruise marring the corner of her sweet mouth. She made a show of looking around the room and gave a nervous-sounding laugh. “I feel kinda like Goldilocks with the three bears.” Her eyes darted back and forth, not meeting his. “Four people. Three beds.” She tapped the toe of her boot on the concrete floor. “Sleeping on the floor doesn’t seem like a good option.”
His heart sped up and his earlier exhaustion morphed into instant hunger. Not that he’d take action. He’d be damned if he’d attempt to make love with an audience listening to every sigh and moan. Because, God bless her, she didn’t strike him as a quiet lover.
Caitlyn apparently took his silence as refusal. “If that’s going to be a problem for you, we can take turns sleeping.”
Joe snorted from across the room. “Give it up, Queen B. Doc will curl up at your feet to keep an eye on you.” He flicked the light switch off and on. “Come on, kids, make up your minds. Lights-out in sixty seconds.”
Stillman slid from the bed and flipped the blanket back. “Get in. We’ll share.”
“Wait a minute. I want to turn on the bathroom light.” She took several backward steps. “In case we have to check on Ryan during the night,” she added. The accompanying blush looked damned enticing. She quickly turned and scurried to the bath and shut the door.
“Oh yeah. I forgot to tell ya. She doesn’t like the dark. Something to do with a nasty prank when she was little,” Joe said from his station by the light switch.
Stupid kids. Stillman unfastened his boots and slipped them off. Dark or no dark, he’d make her feel safe during the night.
Caitlyn returned a couple minutes later, her face freshly scrubbed, damp hair around the edges. She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “Could you sleep against the wall? I’d feel better if I could see the door.”
“Sure.” Was she nervous because of her fear of the dark? Or did she think he’d take advantage of the situation?
He climbed in bed and watched as Caitlyn slowly sat her perfect butt on the edge of the mattress. She spent way too much time unlacing and storing her boots. Interesting.
“Lights going out,” Joe said then suited action to words.
The glow from the bathroom kept the room from plunging into total blackness, but until his eyes grew accustomed, it sure seemed that way. He heard the sheets rustle as Caitlyn settled onto the mattress and he instantly hardened.
Hell, he wouldn’t get any sleep for fear of his body taking over and getting him in big-shit trouble. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he could see her holding the outside edge of the bed as if expecting rough seas. Her scent and body heat immediately smothered him in a hormonal fog. Oh yeah, it was going to be a long effing night.
“I don’t wanna hear any funny stuff from over there. Like zippers comin’ undone,” Joe threatened in a stage whisper from his bed across the room.
As if choreographed, he and Caitlyn pulled the front zippers of their flight suits down, the sound loud and distinctive in the darkened room. Laughter followed, including a weak-sounding guffaw from Ryan, but Stillman noted only his zipper traveled back up. The room’s temperature soared and he smothered a groan. What the hell was she doing to him?
Caitlyn rolled over onto her back. His breath stalled in his chest as her shoulder and upper arm settled flush against him.
“This isn’t anything like I envisioned our first night together,” she said softly.
He almost inhaled his tongue and managed to choke out, “Honey, you’re killing me,” in a strangled voice. He could make out the pale vee of flesh where her flight suit gaped. Dark lace and shiny satin cupped her breasts, adding to the pressure building in his groin.
“I should have stayed that night in the hangar. Or gone home with you,” she added in a whisper only he could hear. Her shoulder slid up in a silent shrug. “They always say it’s the things we don’t do that we regret the most.”
He didn’t know what to say so he opted for silence, cowardly bastard that he was.
She twisted her torso and leaned over him, the brush of her breasts redlining his blood pressure. “It caught me off guard, wanting you so much. Now we might not get the chance to...take it any further.”
Breath from her last word brushed over his face before her lips touched his. He slipped his hands on either side of her head, his fingers spearing mink-soft hair. Mindful of her damaged mouth he kissed her softly. Had he ever experienced such a wild mix of lust and tenderness? He was in way over his head and sinking fast.