Jayhawk Down (10 page)

“Caitlyn,” he murmured and worked his delectable mouth along her jaw and down her neck.

A shiver met his hot tongue somewhere along her collarbone. Even the burn of day-old beard felt good. God, had she really just whimpered?

He lifted his head and focused midnight-blue eyes on her. “Queeny, if we don’t stop now, I’m going to say to hell with any onlookers and take you right here.”

She rested her forehead against his. “Not fair. I’m engulfed in a lust-induced haze and you’re able to think.” One more kiss couldn’t hurt.

A minute, or maybe an hour later Joe’s voice broke them apart.

“All right, kids, do I need to get the hose out?” He stood on Caitlyn’s side of the helo with his hand on the open door. “If your goal was to convince Atwah you’re lovers, you succeeded. He’s over there talking to Yasin now.” He added, “You gave him quite an eyeful,” under his breath, but loud enough for Caitlyn to hear.

She glanced at the hijacker then turned in her seat to look at her mechanic, crew member and friend. “You have a problem with my behavior?” She couldn’t decide if she was still pissed over his scaring her about Yasin’s true identity or not.

He squinted across the helo’s interior at Stillman before settling on her. “No, of course not. I just don’t want you to get hurt in the process.”

Caitlyn spoke to Stillman without looking away from Joe. “Stillman, could you take a hike? I need a little one-on-one here.”

“Sure, I’ll go harass our captors.” He ran his hand down her arm, hesitating over the bruise Atwah had left on her bicep, before he stepped out of the helicopter. His simple gesture over her injury spread comforting warmth through her chest. She sighed. They all were stressed and dealing with the unknown as best they could.

Buzzing insects and the incessant cry of an osprey filled the decidedly uncomfortable human silence. Caitlyn scooted sideways so she faced Joe, her booted feet dangling out the door. “All right, what’s going on? This isn’t your normal irreverent self.”

Joe dropped his gaze to the ground then exhaled loudly. He rubbed knuckles along his jaw, the rough blond stubble looking golden in the morning sunlight. “I know. It’s this.” He motioned to their surroundings.

As loyal as Ryan, Joe was one of the most private crew members she’d ever had reporting to her. He could be obstinate and his opinions old-fashioned, but he’d always supported her, even when he disagreed.

“You mean you don’t care for your roommates or our hosts?” Maybe if she kept it light, he’d open up a little and let her in.

That brought a corner of his mouth up briefly.
Think, Caity, what would cause unflappable Joe to become so cranky?
The answer jumped up and smacked her between the eyes. Oh God, how could she be so dense? Joe had been talking to his ex-wife right before the alarm had gone off and they’d scrambled on the mission that ultimately had brought them all here.

“Is it Tyler? Was that what Claudia called you about yesterday?” Caitlyn reached out and took Joe’s callused square hand in hers and tugged him forward. He doted on his son, had been devastated when his ex moved to another state, limiting the amount of time he could spend with the eleven-year-old.

His throat worked and he suddenly seemed intent on inspecting the rotors above their heads. It took a moment for Caitlyn to realize he was fighting back tears. If he lost it in front of her, he’d laugh it off. If he lost it front of her and Stillman and the hijackers, she feared the embarrassment would permanently damage their relationship.

“Hey, this is off the record. Just between friends, no rank involved, okay?” she said softly. “What did Claudia call about?”

He almost squeezed the feeling out of her hand. “She’s out of remission and wants to move back in with me.” He swallowed hard. “I told her I didn’t know if I could do it.” He made an ugly sound and shook his head. “Hell, I could die here. Then what would happen to Tyler? We don’t have family we can count on. He’d end up with strangers.”

She dug her nails into his hand. “Don’t you dare say such a thing. No one on my team is going to die.”

Joe choked out a laugh. “The queen has spoken?” He scraped his boot against the concrete, his face still averted. “She wants Tyler to get used to me again. Before she—before she has to go into the hospital.”

His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper and he pulled away, crossing his arms and tucking his hands in his armpits. “She doesn’t want him to remember her at the end, when the pain becomes unmanageable.”

Caitlyn’s heart wept for him and the little boy about to lose his mommy. She grabbed his T-shirt and tugged him into her arms. He stiffened before relaxing into her, his head resting on her shoulder.

“Remember, I said I’d help. When Claudia was first diagnosed? That hasn’t changed,” she whispered in his ear. She squeezed tightly before releasing him. “You know me and kids.” She forced her lips to curve up and tapped her fist lightly on his whiskered chin. “Just can’t seem to get enough of them.”

Joe inhaled deeply. A real smile broke out and the clouds in his eyes cleared. “You made a hell of an impression on him that day with
Fly Baby
.”

He glanced toward Stillman and the hijacker as if making sure they hadn’t been watching. “All right, enough of this touchy-feely shit.” He stepped back, distancing himself from the emotion and signaling an end to their intimate talk.

“I’ll show you touchy-feely.” Caitlyn kicked her boot out playfully and he bent forward, cupping both hands over his privates.

“Queen B, you’re getting slow. Must be all that frustration building up in your bloodstream,” he said with a smirk. A mischievous look swept the last vestiges of worry from his face and he dug his hand in a pocket of his flight suit.

He’d also stripped off the top half and tied the arms around his waist, their informal uniform of the day. And now he held his closed fist out to her. “Open your hand.”

She squinted at him. “Why?”

“Hey, don’t you trust me?”

Shit. That was sneaky. She held her breath, then thrust her hand out, palm up and open. And widened her eyes when he released assorted packets of condoms onto it.

“I swiped Ryan’s stash and added mine.” The irreverent twinkle was back in full force. “I’m thinking we need to conserve water, so maybe you could share your shower with a
friend
. And since I’m such a light sleeper, I’m gonna wear my foam earplugs to bed tonight.”

He reached over her shoulder and tugged her ponytail. “You just might have hooked yourself a keeper this time.”

A keeper?
Caitlyn sat in
Fly Baby
and eyed Stillman across the clearing where he stood talking to Yasin and Joe. Moments before, a cell phone call had sent an agitated Atwah away in a torrent of foreign-sounding invectives.

She rubbed her aching head and looked at the fistful of condoms. Then chuckled as heat spread up her chest to inflame her face. What the hell. She’d regretted not taking advantage of him on their first date. Why risk fate by not grabbing what she wanted while she had the chance?

Her gaze found Stillman again and her heart did a perfect whipstall. She closed her hand over the packets. In the shower, huh? Her nipples tightened and sweat trickled between her breasts. Oh yeah, she
really
needed a shower.

First Joe, then Stillman cast quick glances her way. She shifted in her seat. Surely Joe wasn’t indulging in locker-room gossip...no, that wasn’t his style. She shoved the half-dozen condoms into a zippered pocket and hopped out of
Fly Baby
. The best way to find out what was going on was to go ask.

Mindful of her see-through tank top, she grabbed a spare extra-large T-shirt from her grab bag behind the pilot’s seat, and slipped it on. She shivered despite the tropical heat. Atwah’s brutal killing of her would-be attacker was too damn fresh in her mind to ignore.

“We need to rig some kind of winch to pull her landing gear out of the muck,” Joe was saying to Yasin as she approached.

Stormy looks aimed her way led her to believe they’d been talking about something else entirely. Joe refused to look her in the eye, confirming something was off. A muscle ticked in his tightly clenched jaw. Whatever it was he wasn’t happy about it.

“What’s up? Why the long faces?” She stood between Joe and Stillman. Only Yasin seemed relaxed. He shrugged and gave her a vacant smile. Okay, something was going on and they didn’t want to share. How very male.

Stillman shifted slightly, putting space between them. “Just trying to figure out how to move the Jayhawk back onto the landing pad,” he said and appeared to study the problem with a frown.

Caitlyn turned and eyed the leaning helicopter. “Why bother? The rotors are clear. She’ll come loose when we power up.”

Hello, couldn’t they have come up with a better cover story than that? “Okay, boys, what’s really going on here? Does it have something to do with Atwah’s phone call?”

Bingo. Guilty silence built a little wall around the three conspirators. She folded her arms across her chest. “Did I miss the little memo that went around saying to keep the redhead in the dark? Come on, spill it.” She directed her last demand at Yasin.

His mouth quirked up. “No, there was no memo. The only thing I heard from Atwah’s side of the conversation was he’s not getting his replacements.” His sleepy brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “I think maybe the FBI has put pressure on some of his contacts. Now the rats are scurrying for cover.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” She fisted hands on hips and narrowed her eyes at Joe and Stillman’s closed expressions. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

Yasin shrugged again. “It sounded like the bomb delivery was cancelled. Now you’ll have to pick it up on your way to the drop site.”

“O-kay. Wasn’t that what you wanted me to do? Take Atwah and the bomb someplace safe?” Why did navigating this conversation seem like flying in fog with a partial panel? Radar said the path was clear but there was always that possibility for a mistake and mistakes were what got people killed.

Stillman put his hand on her shoulder, its weight and warmth distracting her from Yasin’s explanation. “That was the worst-case scenario. We’d hoped to capture both Atwah and the bomb here without endangering you or your helo. Now we have to make sure he doesn’t pull any more surprises.”

Crunching footfalls on gravel broke the ensuing silence and they looked at the path leading to the house. Atwah stomped out of the trees, his expression deadly. The torrent of foreign words left no doubt that he was not a happy hijacker slash terrorist.

Yasin immediately hunched his shoulders to his ears and lowered his eyes subserviently. The gun he’d held loosely at his side came up to cover his “prisoners.” And he answered Atwah in a higher-pitched voice that quivered. The transformation was complete when he scowled at Stillman and barked out in heavily accented English, “Finish work. Now!”

Caitlyn stepped back, watching as Atwah continued to snarl at the smaller man. Stillman’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, urging her away, and she realized he understood at least some of the exchange. Suddenly Atwah cuffed Yasin, sending him to his knees.

Stillman grabbed Caitlyn’s arm before she charged forward. “Stay out of it,” he said with his mouth against her ear. “Don’t worry about Yasin. He knows what he’s doing.” As he talked he dragged her away from the still-rampaging Atwah.

“What’s he saying?”

“I’m not sure. Something about slaughtering a cow. He’s not making sense or my language skills don’t include his regional dialect.”

Chapter Eight

Jacksonville,
FL,
Thursday, 22 September, 1145 hours

Valerie rattled off a list of action items to her administrative assistant as she stalked from the conference room to her corner office. A dull ache edged its way further into her already throbbing head. She didn’t have time for a migraine, not when she needed to find a place to stay. She wasn’t going to wait for some fanatic to show up at her door. At least now the FBI was taking her mystery caller seriously, even if they still had her pegged as a slightly crazed know-it-all.

She sent her admin scurrying to type her notes and closed the door to her office. Sunlight glinting off the St. John’s Waterway didn’t give her any pleasure today; it just added to the growing pain behind her eyes. A button tap drew the vertical blinds closed with a little whir, dimming the office to an acceptable cool gray.

Her desk phone buzzed softly, indicating a call on her private outside line. She looked at the caller ID and her pulse skittered. Blocked. God, had he traced her to her office? She grabbed the handset on the third ring. “Hello?”

“I don’t want to scare you, but you shouldn’t return to your condo,” Scott Munson’s deep voice said.

Coffee and the plain bagel she’d grabbed between her seven and eight-thirty meetings threatened to mar her immaculate desktop with an unscheduled return. Valerie closed her eyes and willed the migraine, and accompanying nausea, to take a number. “What happened?”

“Nothing new. But given how simple it was for me to find where you live, I don’t think you should chance having this nutcase track you down.”

He was lying. She couldn’t say how she knew, but she did. Her mind spun with all the possible scenarios. She tried to swallow, her mouth and throat arguing about the direction of the flow. Down, not up, damn it.

She took a deep breath. “The building has excellent security. The guards are extremely conscientious and there are video cameras everywhere.”

That was one of the reasons she lived there.

“Except one of my agents is sitting in your living room as we speak.”

Sweat greased her palms and her stomach rolled over. “What?”

“Ms. Wooten, I sent an agent over to your condo to see how effective your security is. It’s good, and would probably dissuade the average burglar. But I have good reason to suspect the people we’re dealing with are better than that.

“If you need assistance in finding a place to stay I’ll see to it,” he continued as if he hadn’t just destroyed her already-shaky confidence.

“Can’t I just stay in a hotel?” God, was she supposed to go to a safe house like a battered woman or witness to a Mob hit?

“Certainly. But I would strongly suggest you register under a different name. And pay with cash.”

Valerie swallowed the rising panic. She’d weathered worse situations. Like the first six weeks after her husband’s death and the subsequent shake-up of the shipping business she’d inherited.

She took down Munson’s cell phone number and agreed to let him know when she checked in to a hotel. After replacing the handset, she buzzed her admin, requesting a new cell phone, a Diet Coke, and a clear afternoon schedule.

Valerie rubbed burning eyes and rummaged through her desk drawer looking for medication. No use pretending otherwise, the migraine was here to stay and she had too much to do. Drugged out was better than being flat on her back in a dark room for the next eight to ten hours.

If Special Agent Scott Munson thought she’d simply go into hiding he was sorely mistaken. She hadn’t become the head of an international company by running from trouble. She had more than a few shady contacts from paying attention to her father’s and husband’s business in the seamier parts of the world, including Miami.

And she’d overheard more than she’d let Munson know about, mostly because she hadn’t thought it that important at the time, and she was pissed because he wasn’t sharing all that he knew. The background sounds she’d heard during the call just might prove extremely important.

Egret Isle, FL,
Thursday, 22 September, 1200 hours

Atwah stood in the middle of the mansion’s foyer letting the air-conditioning cool his anger as much as his skin. He’d lost control. He could not afford to do that, not when he was so close to winning. A deep breath helped calm him and he steepled his hands against his mouth.

Genius often called for ingenuity and flexibility. And patience. He bowed his head as if in prayer. But thoughts of a god, or any power beyond his own, held little appeal. What he had accomplished he had done on his own. He looked around the opulent display of poor taste his brother’s wealth had bought and let sit empty most of the year. No, Atwah would not allow the FBI, or his brother’s weakness, to interfere with his plans.

Had not their father always insisted Man ruled because he’d adapted?
Adapt or die
. Well, Atwah had no intention of dying anytime soon.

He could, however, adapt. And unlike his older brother, he owed no one his allegiance.

* * *

Stillman watched Caitlyn’s breasts rise and fall in the slow rhythm of sleep. Afternoon heat had forced her to strip down to his favorite tank top. Now, she lay stretched out on the concrete in the helo’s shadow, her head pillowed on her discarded T-shirt, which rested on his thigh.

A long-ago song came to him. Yeah, she was killing him softly all right. His back rested against the helo’s wheel, his hand smoothing her hair back from her face. She’d released her ponytail and now its rich softness spread over his lap like an autumn blanket.

“Beer and nachos sure would hit the spot right now,” Joe said from his shady spot to Stillman’s right.

He glanced at the mechanic. Joe no longer dozed on his wadded-up flight suit and had stripped down to shirt and gym shorts in the roasting sun. Now he sat up, his gaze locked on Caitlyn’s sleeping form. “She’s pretty amazing.”

“One of a kind,” Stillman said, his hand continuing its lazy stroke.

“Most guys, especially her doctor-dates, think she’s high maintenance,” Joe volunteered. He unfurled his flight suit and began neatly rolling it up.

Stillman looked at the woman asleep on the concrete landing pad, dressed in military-issued drab, without a speck of makeup, and saw not only rare beauty, but also her innate courage. If he hadn’t met this version before the sex kitten he’d danced with Tuesday night, he wouldn’t have lost so much sleep. Because the real Caitlyn Stone was complicated as hell, fiercely loyal, passionate and funny, and god
damned
if he wasn’t falling in love with her.

His body, heart and lungs stilled while what little brains he had left contemplated the beauty in his lap. The relentless sun had reddened her cheeks and shoulders. After Hilary, he’d vowed to keep his heart safely detached from females and their convoluted schemes. And here he was acting like a green recruit, contemplating dreams he thought he’d outgrown in the harsh reality of a failed marriage.

At thirty-five he’d craved normal, complete with kids, mortgage and a dog. All the things he’d missed in his own sterile childhood. In the beginning, Hilary claimed to want the same things. Somewhere along the way she discovered what she really wanted was his mother’s lifestyle. Turned out she loved being Mrs. Stillman Gray III more than she loved him.

He looked at Caitlyn’s face. A streak of hydraulic fluid marred her forehead. “No, Queeny’s not high maintenance. High expectations, maybe. Those fools only saw the pretty packaging, totally missing this side of her.” But was their loss really his gain?

Joe tossed a pebble into the palmettos. “Yeah, but I gotta warn ya, she has more shoes than any other pilot I know.”

Stillman’s mouth quirked up. If the spindly spiked concoctions he’d seen Tuesday night were a sample of her collection, he couldn’t wait to see the others. Being together didn’t have to be forever.

He tried to ignore the ache of regret that thought brought.

Joe cleared his throat and Stillman braced himself. With Ryan gone, Joe’d apparently inherited Royal Protection duty.

“You mentioned your parents the other night. Are they going to notice you’re gone?”

The innocent question hit like a shark in shallow water, unexpected and deadly, stealing his breath away with a slash of memory. He’d forgotten his father’s upcoming surgery. He stilled his hand until the tremor passed, then resumed the slow stroke.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Joe’s expression showed curiosity shadowed with concern. Despite an almost painful tightening of vocal cords, Stillman forced the words out. “My father. He’s having heart surgery.” A quick review of the past twenty-four hours brought a frown. “Shit. Tomorrow morning.”

* * *

The whisper of pain in Stillman’s voice woke Caitlyn. Heart surgery? He stopped his gentle stroking of her hair and she blinked. Had he planned on flying to New York? Would anyone tell his family why he wasn’t there?

His mouth tilted up in a sad-looking smile and he tugged on a lock of hair. “Have a nice nap?”

“Yeah.” The dark stubble on his jaw drew her hand upward. His eyes dilated when she skimmed her knuckle back and forth along the rough edge. An answering tremor settled low in her belly. “You need a shave.”

To hell with the shave, she wanted him naked in the shower. But Joe was asking about Stillman’s family and Caitlyn forced her mind away from more prurient designs on the doctor. Distance would help, along with donning her more modest T-shirt once again. Desire smoldering in Stillman’s heated gaze didn’t do much for her tenuous self-control.

She stood and pulled the faded Coast Guard Academy T-shirt over her head, then set about rebraiding her hair. And listened to Stillman answer Joe.

“I can’t decide which would be more upsetting, my not showing up tomorrow, or them hearing I’ve been hijacked.”

Caitlyn’s fingers stopped their weaving motion. She closed her eyes.
Great, Caity.
Not once had she thought about the impact the hijacking would have on
her
family. So much for that short-lived illusion she really wasn’t so self-centered.

“Do you think we made the news?” Joe asked. He scrambled to his feet and yelled at Yasin. “Hey, did we make the eleven o’clock news last night?”

Caitlyn’s stomach rolled with a beginner pilot’s wobble, even as she stood still. She must have made a distressed sound because both Stillman and Joe immediately flanked her.

“Are you okay?” Joe asked.

“Sit down before you fall down,” Stillman ordered. “Yasin! Bring a bottle of water!”

Caitlyn sank to her knees. “I’m fine. I-I just hadn’t thought about h-how this could affect my family.” She closed her eyes again. Her parents would be devastated if they’d heard about it on the news. Or, God forbid, what if they’d sent an officer along with a Coast Guard chaplain? It would be exactly like when Johnny died.

* * *

Stillman crouched next to Caitlyn. Her face had gone sand-white, highlighting freckles scattered over nose and cheeks. Her respiration danced on the edge of hyperventilation. “Put your head down.”

He slipped an arm around her waist and his palm on the crown of her head and pushed forward. Naturally she resisted. “Lieutenant, put your head down before you pass out,” he growled. Damn fool didn’t know when to quit fighting.

Muscles in her neck and back relented and she folded over his arm. “I’m okay,” she protested in a muffled voice.

He could feel small tremors passing through her body, creating an answering ache in his own. He wanted to shield her from any and all real and imagined pain.

“Yeah, honey, you keep right on tellin’ yourself that.” Yasin thrust a dripping bottle at him and he directed Joe to uncap it.

“Drink,” Joe said as he knelt on her other side.

“What’s wrong?” Yasin asked in a hushed voice.

“I think the queen just realized the royal family might have heard about our little party here.” From what she’d told him last week, he had no doubt her parents would freak over the news of their little girl’s capture. And God forbid they believed she’d been hurt. Or worse.

He looked up at Yasin, framed by late-afternoon sunlight. “Are they keeping this thing under wraps? Did anyone contact our families about what’s going on?” For once he hoped Hilary had stuck her nose in and taken whatever call might have been directed to his parents.

Yasin nodded sharply. “I heard this morning there was a news leak when they brought the swimmer in last night. But that’s been controlled. The Coast Guard would have notified the crew’s next-of-kin. The army probably took care of your contact. No particulars would have been divulged, just the usual, we’re doing all we can, don’t talk to the media, blah, blah, blah.”

Caitlyn shook off Stillman’s hand and raised her head. “Clay’s alive?”

Yasin’s expression turned wary. “Yeah. He was wounded, but he pulled through.”

Stillman stopped her surge forward.

“You little bastard. Why would you keep that from us?” Her eyes were shooting laser-guided missiles. “Any word on Ryan?”

“N-no. My next contact will be late tonight. I’ll see what I can find out.” He stood and took a step back as if concerned she might attack. “I think you should return to your quarters. Atwah will be expecting a report on the repair efforts.”

Joe nudged Caitlyn’s water bottle toward her mouth and she took another sip before he answered Yasin.

“Nothing’s wrong with the helo. It’ll fly whenever he wants. But fuel could be a factor, depending on the destination.”

Yasin gestured loosely with the AK-47 toward the gravel path. “I wish I knew the answer to that one. Come on, we’d better head back.”

Stillman kept his arm around Caitlyn’s waist as she stood unsteadily. Her fleeting protest told him how upset she really was. Hell, now he was missing her I’m-in-control attitude?

Joe walked ahead while Yasin followed at a discreet distance, giving Stillman and Caitlyn a semblance of privacy.

He pulled her tight to his side as he matched his stride to hers. “From what you told me, your parents are used to handling emergencies. Isn’t that life as usual with a platoon of kids?”