Authors: Lindsay McKenna
Finally, they came to the edge of the fenced-in area. The estate sat on the edge of a cliff, and the fence stopped at the four-thousand-foot drop. Craig turned around and faced Sabra. The darkness was so complete in the thick fog that they could no longer see each other: they were limited to communicating with brief touches of their bodies as they moved back the way they had come.
Gripping Sabra's hand, Craig tugged at it once to let her know she was to follow him. He placed her hand on the back of his belt, silently asking her to hold on, so she wouldn't get disoriented in the fog. As he crouched down and carefully made his way back up the slope toward where their canvas bag was hidden, he prayed they hadn't been detected. Using the compass they were finally able to make their way back to their original spot.
It was 4:00 a.m. The fog was thicker, if that was possible. And they had at least another hour's walk ahead of them. Craig placed his night goggles back in the bag and hefted it quietly across his shoulder. Sabra maintained her hold on his belt as he began the trek down the slope. As they moved farther away from the estate and possible detection, she began to relax a little.
By the time they reached their car, hidden down a dirt road and shielded from the highway leading to Kula, Sabra was rubbing her arms in an effort to get warm. They changed clothes there, and goose bumps sprang up on her skin as she shed the damp nylon in favor of a dark blue sweatshirt and sweat pants. Neither of them spoke as they hurriedly changed, tossed their gear into the trunk and climbed into the car.
They were at least five miles away from Kula before they spoke. Sabra was holding her hands up to the heater, trying to warm them. Craig drove, his mouth set.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yes and no."
"Jason is with them. I'm so glad we found him." She glanced at him. "I could tell the helicopter brought back bad memories for you."
His mouth tightened. "Yeah, it did. But more important, Jason looked okay, and for that, I'm grateful."
Sabra released a long breath. "Me, too." She studied him. "Terry used to hit the deck every time a car backfired, no matter where he was. He said it was an automatic reflex action."
Craig nodded. His stomach was still twisted in painful knots. Nothing was as frightening as the sound of a helicopter, having it land so close to him. The rush of images from the crash had nearly overwhelmed him. "I thought I was going to scream in terror back there," he admitted roughly. "I was so damned scared my knees were shaking."
Sabra gave him a compassionate look. "You have so much courage, Craig. My heart goes out to you. I wish I could help you—"
"You do." His eyes cut to her quickly, then back to the road. The fog was thinning, and he could see fifteen or twenty feet ahead on the highway. Sabra was a friend—someone he could trust with his life. Having her nearby gave him something to hold on to.
Heartened, Sabra smiled unsteadily. What she felt for Craig was good and strong. If only he felt the same way! But he'd been without a woman for a long time—that was what he saw in her. She couldn't dare hope for anything more.
"Sometimes people can be good for each other." Craig shook his head. "Damned if I know what I give you in trade, Sabra. I'm a jumpy, thirty-year-old ex-marine who has insomnia and will hit anyone who touches him when he's asleep."
Sabra heard the derision in his voice and ached for him. "You've always been honest with me, with no apologies," she whispered, a catch in her voice. "You don't joke, you don't make light of serious things. I'd rather share your honesty than have you hide from me."
His heart filled with pain. "Yeah, well, there's no getting around my problems. They're all pretty obvious."
Sabra said nothing. She knew they would go to another public phone, and she'd make the call to Perseus. Her heart swelled with joy at being able to share the good news that they'd located Jason. The feeling was quickly dampened by reality. How could they rescue him? Could they? As soon as they made the call, got something to eat and showered, they would have to get back out to the estate and watch.
She knew Laura would be ecstatic over the news about Jason. Sabra hoped Jake and Wolf could make her friend understand that just finding her son didn't mean all that much. The worst part was ahead of them. They couldn't trust the police. They could trust no one but themselves. A ragged breath eased from Sabra's lips, and she reached out and squeezed Craig's hand. It was a strong, steady hand, covered with scars that would always remind him of his past.
Covertly, Sabra stole a look at him as he drove cautiously through the fog. Dawn was just touching the horizon somewhere to the east of the island, the fog like a gloomy blanket.
"Craig?"
"What?"
"Do you have any dreams?"
He gave her a wry look. "Plenty of nightmares."
Sabra glanced back apologetically. "No, I mean dreams of the future—of what you want your life to be like."
"Me? I live hour to hour. Day to day. I'm afraid to look at the future because of the past that sits on my shoulders in the present." He saw her eyebrows dip. "What are you getting at?"
"Oh, I just wondered."
"Do you have dreams?" he countered.
"Yes." Tentatively, Sabra nodded. "Well, I used to."
"Until Josh died?" he asked out of sudden intuition.
"Yes," she admitted.
"What did you hope for before then?"
"I'd always dreamed of marrying a man who would love me for the way I was, not for what he wanted me to be. I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook or housekeeper. My mother went crazy with me in the kitchen. I burned more stuff than I care to think about. I ended up wrecking several of her pots and pans in the process. I hated to dust. I hated to do dishes."
"What would you rather do?" He studied her shadowed face, now set with unhappiness.
"I loved to play soccer. I liked being outdoors. At night I always had my window open, even in the dead of winter, because I loved the fresh air. I guess that's why I like Perseus so much—most of my assignments are outdoors."
Craig tried to tell himself that as her friend, he wanted to share other, private parts of himself with Sabra. Or
was
it friendship? Damn this mission. There was no time to sort through his feelings. What the hell, he wanted to share with her. "You sound a little like a mustang my brother Joe got from one of his Navajo friends for his fifteenth birthday," he ventured.
"Oh?"
"His friend Tom Yellow Horse gave him a mustang no one could tame—a pinto mare, I think. She'd been on the rodeo circuit and she'd bucked off everyone. She hated saddles and hated being snubbed to a post. She'd lash out with her legs if Joe tried to get near her."
Sabra studied his grim features. "What happened to her?"
"Joe eventually realized that the mare wanted her freedom. She didn't like humans. So he let her go."
"He did?"
Craig nodded. "He got me and Dan up early one morning, kicked us out of bed and made us help him. That mare would charge you if you got in the corral with her, so he wanted our help. I remember opening the gate for Joe and watching his face when she galloped off to her freedom. He cried."
"Your brother sounds like a guy with a heart."
"He is," Craig murmured. He glanced at her then frowned. "You're like that mustang, because you don't want to be saddled with house chores or indoor duties."
"One of my stellar eccentricities…" she whispered, her voice trailing off. How she ached to see that tenderness return to his eyes, but it was gone—forever. All Craig had needed was her body, she reminded herself—her ability to love him that one, beautiful time. Sabra wanted to cry, but choked the tears down deep inside herself.
Sabra waited, gritting her teeth as she knelt on the ground beneath the thick foliage. They were less than fifty yards from Garcia's estate. For the fourth night in a row, they had crept close to the wrought-iron fence near the helo-landing pad. For the past three nights, at exactly 0300, Garcia had arrived by helicopter with Jason in tow. He always left again shortly after 1800.
Sabra had no idea why, since they couldn't contact the police or any federal agency to help them track the helicopter's route. One thing was evident, however: Jason was never out of Garcia's sight or far from his side. Tonight, she and Craig had decided to rush forward shortly after the helicopter landed and take Jason away from Garcia.
Not liking the plan, but having no other, Sabra crouched on the ground, fear eating at her. She hated operations like this one, for there was nothing clean or simple about it. What if, instead of one guard meeting the helicopter this morning, three or four appeared, armed with submachine guns? As it stood, even if only one guard came out, they had to render him, the pilot and Garcia unconscious.
Instead of bullets, they carried pistols loaded with a powerful tranquilizing agent that Killian had provided them with. Almost as soon as it pierced the skin, a victim fell unconscious. Sabra agreed with the decision. They didn't want an all-out war with Ramirez or Garcia—they only wanted the boy back. Sending the message that they weren't going to kill unless absolutely necessary might help Ramirez decide to spare Morgan's life—if he was alive.
Still their choice left them uncomfortably in the line of fire. Sabra had no doubt that the guard had real bullets in his submachine gun, and she was sure the pilot and Garcia, were also armed—and more than willing to shoot to kill. Adjusting the bulky armored vest she wore beneath her nylon suit, Sabra knew it was the only thing standing between her and sudden death. She was glad Craig was wearing one, too. He knew as well as she did that Garcia didn't hire slouches who couldn't shoot straight.
Her mouth grew dry as she glanced down at her watch, a dark piece of cloth shielding the luminous dials. It was 0255. Her heart pulsed strongly in reaction. They would sneak close, wait until just after the helo landed, then leap up on the edge of the concrete pad, open the wrought-iron gate and fire. If Jason was accidentally hit, he would survive the dart tranquilizer—another reason to use them rather than bullets.
She raised her eyelashes and squarely met Craig's dark, narrowed gaze. Anxiety was clearly registered in his eyes. Tension hung around them, and Sabra's thoughts turned to their recent time together. What they shared was like this mission—surprising and unstable. Precious moments of intense friendship, communication and awareness were broken by awkward silences, sudden coldness and confusion. The snatches of sleep they'd gotten over the past few days were always in each other's arms, but they were too tired to make love, sleeping only two or three hours at a time. Each day they'd moved to another motel to avoid detection, and each day they'd hidden in another area to keep tabs on Garcia's movements. The situation was too crazy for anything to be properly resolved. Sabra had been forced to put their relationship on the back burner until the mission was completed.
The only real hope she felt over their situation was the fact that the Perseus jet was finally on the
Maui
airport tarmac, and Killian was shadowing them from a safe distance. He'd landed two days ago, and they'd met near dusk in a remote motel on the south side of the mountainous island, cross-checking all their information. He'd provided them with tranquilizing darts and other gear for the mission. Perseus had put out feelers, trying to discover if there was a leak in the local police department, but it had to be done carefully. In the meantime, Killian had contacted the FBI for help.
Again Sabra ran the plan through her mind as they lay quietly beneath Garcia's silent estate. They would snatch Jason and make a run for it down the slope to where their camouflaged car waited on a dirt road off the highway, four miles away. Then they would speed down the highway to the airport, another twenty miles away, near the center of the island. They would meet Killian and the FBI at the Learjet, which would be ready to take off, with Dr. Ann Parsons, an emergency-trauma-trained physician, as well as a psychologist, standing by. Sabra prayed that Dr. Parsons's help wouldn't be needed. Of the utmost importance in every action was Jason's safety.