Pilot Error (32 page)

"Thanks, I can use this." Before the surprised man could react, she slammed his arm in a direction it was not meant to bend and was rewarded with a sharp snap and a howl of pain. "You scum. I wish to God I had a knife and then you'd be drawing back a stump!"

"What's happening?" Luke asked.

Now was no time for explanations. Ignoring him, and Reynolds' howled promises of what he was going to do with her, Micki grabbed Luke's flailing hand, focused the purloined flashlight, and started them down the rough passage before them.

They were well around one sharp turn before the men behind the fissure got themselves sorted out enough to send a burst of frustrated, ineffectual, gunfire after them. Hearing bullets smack against the limestone behind them, Micki brought them to a stop.

"Do you know where we are?" Luke asked warily.

Micki shined the flashlight in his face, and then frowned when he didn't even flinch. He still couldn't see.

"Sure," she said, ashamed of being grateful he couldn't see her lie. "We're in some kind of cave. By the time they figure out a way in, we're bound to be out."

Eerie echoes bounced back to taunt her in the ringing silence after the gunfire. Micki let her stolen light play over the passage that branched in three lightless directions before them.

"Bound to be," she repeated, hoping Luke would believe it, even if she didn't.

"Micki?" Dirk's desperate shout echoed through the darkness beyond the motion lights. There was no answer—had been no answer since he'd caught up to the pursuit group stalled at the crack through which Micki and Hardigan had escaped—but he had to keep trying. "Come back here, sweetheart. Please? We can talk about this!"

The only answer came from the irate man behind him. "If I ever get my hands on her, Jurgensen, that bitch is dead!"

Dirk spun to glower at Reynolds. He sat slumped in an agonized heap, moaning and hugging his broken arm to his chest. They were presently alone in the corridor, since Dirk had sent the other men in search of tools to widen the breach in the rock.

"You did this, Reynolds. You chased her in there, you son of a—"

"Like hell!" Sweating and pale, Reynolds struggled to his feet. Once standing, he closed on Dirk like a wounded animal on the attack. "If you'd been thinking with the head on your shoulders, we'd have cut outta the Keys free and clear. You never should have brought her here."

"Shut up!" Dirk's hands closed into fists. "And stay out of this, it's not your problem." Without breaking eye contact, he bellowed over his shoulder, "Where's that damn equipment?"

"It is my problem," Reynolds thundered, his injured arm cradled protectively. "It's personal, and I'm personally gonna wring your girlfriend's pretty little neck!"

Enraged, Dirk grabbed a handful of the other man's shirt. "Touch her and I'll—"

"You'll what? Kill me?"

A cold, sharp object pressed against his throat and Dirk belatedly remembered the other's switchblade. His chin lifted as Reynolds applied pressure, but stood his ground. After all, this was Micki's life they were discussing.

Reynolds continued in a hiss. "I don't think so, pal. You're gonna be too busy worrying about your own neck."

Dirk sensed movement behind him. At last, the tools. It was time to put an end to this. Releasing the handful of shirt he still held, he took a slow step back. "Don't be stupid. I still outrank you, and when I get Micki out of there, not you or anybody else touches her."

Reynolds' laugh, as he closed the switchblade, was short and ugly. "You still don't get it, do you? It's a done deal. She's as good as dead right now."

A cultured voice doused the conflict like a bucket of cold water. "Gentlemen, please."

Dirk turned reluctantly, feeling like a schoolboy caught fighting on the playground. Dominic Van Allen looked as unperturbed as if he had halted a mild disagreement over the weather, and strolled forward with his hands clasped behind him. Two armed bodyguards stopped and stood watchfully at his back.

"I'm afraid, gentlemen, that the resolution to this problem will not meet either of your expectations."

Reynolds, who had moved up beside Dirk, lost his smug smile. "What? But you said I could—"

"Mr. Van Allen, sir," Dirk cut in, drawing another step toward his boss, "I know this looks bad but I can handle it. I'll get Micki and Hardigan back, and then I'll clamp a lid on this thing. There won't be any more problems."

"Yes, I agree. There will be no more problems, because I am taking this matter out of your hands, Dirk." Van Allen's gaze shifted to Reynolds. "I see you've had a bit of a mishap, Gordon. Go upstairs and have it looked at."

Reynolds frowned. "What about the girl?"

"I have plans for taking care of her and her companion. Now I want you to go and see to your injury." His voice was too precise, too devoid of emotion, and the heavy set man subsided immediately. With a last sullen glance at Dirk, he slowly made his way down the corridor as ordered, the motion lights flickering on and off as he passed.

Dirk directed his plea to his boss. "You gave me a week to change her mind. I can still do that. All I need is to be able to get in there." He gestured toward the cleft that was presently too small for him to squeeze through. "Once I—"

"The situation has changed, Dirk, as they seem to do when your women are involved. You've forced me to deal with this in my own way."

The cool British tone was tempered with steel that stopped Dirk in his tracks. This could not be happening. He had planned this too well for it to go this wrong.

A flick of Van Allen's head brought one of his men forward. "William will take you upstairs and see that you have time to reflect on what nearly happened here."

"No!" Striding forward, Dirk moved to intercept his employer, who had begun a step toward the crack in the wall. "You can't..."

Van Allen's bodyguard caught his left arm, spun him about, and shoved him in the direction Reynolds had taken. Dirk planted his feet and struggled to resist. It was a vain effort. The other man who had flanked their employer gripped his right arm to add strength to the fray.

"Please, Mr. Van Allen! Give me another chance, I can handle Micki!"

Fighting to keep his boss in view, Dirk was chilled by the sight of Van Allen crossing to the crack where his security had been breached. Though his silhouette was sublimely composed as he inspected the imperfect limestone wall, Dirk could see that the man's hands, which he had believed clasped calmly behind his back, were in fact held fisted in rage.

It was then, for the first time, that the full impact of the situation hit him. By bringing Micki to this place, to these people, Dirk may have written her death sentence.

***

Beyond the meager beam of her flashlight it was as black as proverbial pitch, with darkness pressing in on all sides like a living thing. Swallowing hard, Micki imagined she could feel it oozing against their backs, flowing in their wake like a malevolent tide and waiting until they had entered far enough into its domain to engulf them forever.

She shivered, as much from fear as cold. The cave was chilly and she was wearing precious little clothing, but the dark itself seemed to be sucking the warmth from her body. Only Luke's strong hand on her shoulder kept her rampant imagination at bay. She was supposed to be the one doing the leading here and he was depending on her, not the other way around.

Luke's voice floated over her shoulder. "You doing okay?"

"Fine," she said curtly, not willing to elaborate lest a telling note of trepidation creep into her voice. In the beginning, they had been presented with three choices of direction. Reynolds' cursing had initially chased them down the left hand branch. Dirk's beseeching had soon replaced it. Now there was only silence and she couldn't decide which was worse. She could imagine all sorts of things in a place like this. Had Dirk dug his way in? Was he tracking her even now? What would she do if he found them?

Her knuckles white around the precious flashlight, Micki fought against another horror that had surfaced in the quiet, cool darkness. With time to think came dealing with the memory of how Fizz had died. It would no longer be denied. Every time her attention wandered, the memory of his black and white form, nearly swallowed by the vast ocean as he struggled to reach his mistress, threatened to overwhelm her. He had been swimming frantically to reach her and protect her, as she had failed to do for him.

A sound suspiciously like a sob made Luke raise his other hand to her shoulder and pull her to a stop.

"I'm sure Fizz made it to one of the islands," he said astutely.

His body was so warm and inviting at her back that she was tempted to turn around, fall into his arms, and let go of everything she had bottled up.

Micki caught back a shaky breath, glad Luke couldn't see how close she was to tears. Anyway, who was he to offer sympathy? He had been the one to pull her off Reynolds.

She knew in her head that was unfair, but her heart wailed something else again. "You should have done something, anything, to make them stop and get him."

For a long moment there was only the damning silence and the warmth of his hands on her shoulders. Finally Luke spoke. "I had to make a choice—you or Fizz. There wasn't much chance I was going to do anything to help him by getting involved, and there was a good chance that if I didn't stop you from trying, you were going to get hurt. Or killed. And I couldn't let that happen."

Micki remained silent, fighting back the emotions that wanted to spill free. It made sense, but the reality still threatened to wrench her heart out. She was alive and Fizz was—

"Micki?" Luke's hands gently kneaded her shoulders.

"What?"

"I really do think Fizz made it to an island. He's tough, like his owner. He wouldn't let some piddly puddle like the Gulf of Mexico get the better of him."

"Too right," Micki said hoarsely. Looking up into the darkness, she gulped down some air. She wanted to believe that, but in her mind's eye all she saw was Fizz's back encompassed by ocean on all sides.

She started forward again, roughly dragging Luke in her wake. It wasn't Luke's fault. Not really. It was the doing of these men who made their living by murder and greed.

"Of course he'll have made it." She wiped something wet from her cheek. "And he'll chew the leg off any one of these blokes if he ever runs across them again."

"You bet."

Including Dirk. Micki found she couldn't voice the thought; she could hardly bear to think it. The blame for Fizz's murder rested with the man who had brought the puppy into her world, the same man she had once thought she loved.

Unexpectedly, her flashlight revealed another choice ahead of them. Their passage branched in two more directions, both leading into unfamiliar darkness. Although her steps slowed as she approached, Micki had not yet focused on the problem. The tears in her eyes made the light dance and blur. Coming to a stop, she felt Luke bump up against her but did not turn.

"Micki?"

"You were right, Luke. About Dirk being guilty. I don't know how I could have been so wrong."

Luke's arms went about her, encompassing her in a hug from behind.  "Everybody's wrong sometime." He nuzzled her hair with affection that drew a sense of longing from her despite her tears. "Even me. I thought you were working for Jurgensen, flying his lousy merchandise to Miami. And here you turned out to be a survivalist out to bring The Bad Guys to justice. You can't let the one time you got fooled make you distrust yourself for the rest of your life."

Silently, Micki swept her light over both the openings that confronted her, thinking about choices, thinking about what Luke had just said, and about how closely the two were tied together.

Luke nuzzled her neck, planting what could have been a light kiss on the side of her throat. "There's something I want to tell you."

Drawing a deep breath, she took a determined step away from his touch and the strength he offered. Cold, lonely darkness closed at her back. "Later. Right now, we've got a decision to make. The passage divides into two more paths."

Again there was a pause from Luke. When she shone the light to see his face and he gave no indication that he was aware of it, she felt a tiny stab of fear. He truly couldn't see. The burns about his eyes were visible even in this light and there were bruises that made it evident that the explosion wasn't the only thing that had wounded him. How could she have been so wrong? About Dirk. And about... everything.

"Can I make a suggestion?" he asked.

"Gladly."

"When you decide which way to go, always turn that way, and mark every intersection. That way, if we end up where we've been we'll know, and the next time we can turn the other way."

Micki swept the light over the two openings that were infuriatingly devoid of any clues. Stooping, she caught up a sharp rock. Then, guiding Luke's hand back onto her shoulder, she said, "I choose right." Her voice echoed faintly down the passage as she firmly etched an X on the wall.

"Okay, right it is. And Micki...?"

She frowned. Here it was. She knew Indiana Hardigan wouldn't just let her make her decision and go with it. "What?"