Jayhawk Down (13 page)

Stillman’s roar of rage sounded far away. Gravel and sand bit into her cheek and she couldn’t breathe. Sounds slowly faded and the sun disappeared altogether. She was drowning, her lungs imploding from a too-rapid descent. Sharks circled. Flat black eyes watched, unblinking, as she screamed in fear and rage.

* * *

Stillman grabbed Atwah by his shirt and belt and threw him off Caitlyn as Yasin tried to stop him. God
damn
it, she wasn’t supposed to get hurt. Stillman fell to his knees at her side, his hands shaking as he ran them over her, feeling for broken bones. Her shriek still echoed in his head.

He was supposed to have blocked her view—to protect her. Gently he turned her limp body over. Tears threatened his assessment and he cleared them with choppy swipes from the back of his hand.

Blood oozed from the road rash on her forehead and cheek. He swore again. Her beautiful skin had sand and gravel embedded in it. His hand hovered over her without touching. An angry knot the size of a baby’s fist was already forming on her forehead above her left eye.

“Is she alive?” Atwah asked, his boots coming in view on the other side of Caitlyn’s supine body.

Stillman ignored him.

Yasin knelt next to Atwah’s feet and took Caitlyn’s wrist in his hand. Stillman growled.

“Yes, she’s alive. We should move her inside,” Yasin said, jerking backward before Stillman’s fist could connect.

“Doctor, carry her to the house. Yasin, make sure the mechanic is dead.” Atwah stepped back. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Caitlyn stirred, her eyelids fluttered then widened in a flash of awareness. Stillman grabbed her shoulders before she could get more than a couple of inches off the ground. “Stay still.”

She cranked her head up, her eyes wild. “Joe. Is he—” She swallowed hard, a spasm distorting the graceful curve of her neck. “Is he dead?”

“Yes,” Yasin said harshly from his crouched position next to her fallen crew member.

As much as Stillman had anticipated this reaction, when her voice cracked on a gut-wrenching wail and her eyes filled with tears, he wanted to blurt out the truth. Which could get them all killed.

“Pick her up,” Atwah said in a voice that expected immediate response.

Stillman bent and gently gathered Caitlyn’s shaking body in his arms. She molded into him, supple and vulnerable. Seeing her like this, with all the fight gone, hurt more than he’d imagined. God, had he made the wrong decision?

Atwah headed down the gravel path without a glance at Joe or Yasin, and some of Stillman’s tension eased. If Atwah had decided to check Joe himself...

He lengthened his stride to keep up with Atwah. Caitlyn’s hands clutched and released his T-shirt repeatedly, like a kitten. Her sobs had quieted, but tears still spilled freely down her damaged cheek. He bent his head over her. “How do you feel? Dizzy? Nauseous?”

“No,” she choked out between sniffles.

She’d lost consciousness long enough to indicate at least a mild concussion. He refused to contemplate anything more serious given their current medical resources. He hitched her higher. “Could you put your arms around my neck?”

She complied and nestled her face against his neck. He felt her uneven breaths against his skin, but it sounded like she’d stopped crying. If he hadn’t seen her earlier devastation, he wouldn’t have known the kind of control she was exerting to contain it now.

The mansion came into view. Yasin had been right about that, as well. He’d said Atwah would move them to the house as soon as Joe was out of the equation. Now Stillman just had to decide what to do about the bugs and cameras Caitlyn had found when she’d been there last. Assuming Atwah put them in the same room.

Caitlyn stiffened when she saw where he was carrying her. “What’s going on? Why are you taking me here?”

He squeezed her. “Look at me.” He waited till she shifted to face him. His stomach sank. Her blood-streaked cheek had swollen, her eyes were red, and her lashes were still wet from tears. “Ah, honey. You look like you lost the fight.”

Tears welled again and he swore. “Hey, that was supposed to be a joke.” Idiot, she was in no mood for teasing. She believed her crew member and friend had just been shot to death right before her eyes.

“Not funny, Dr. Butt Head.” She grabbed a handful of his T-shirt and wiped her face—and nose—with it.

He shook his head and stopped walking. “I know. Answer me truthfully,” he said. She nodded, her eyes watching his warily. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” She stared at him, waiting.

His heart beat harder. She hadn’t even hesitated. “After I clean your wounds, I’ll need to leave you alone for a little bit.” He frowned when she opened her mouth as if to protest. “You’ll need to locate all the bugs and surveillance cameras in the room. When I get back, maybe we’ll figure a way to disable them.” He kissed her hard. “Just keep trusting me, Queeny, because what you saw wasn’t real.”

While her mouth tightened into a frown, he saw a spark of hope light her eyes and she gave him a small nod before looking away.

When they arrived in the room he took care of the worst of Caitlyn’s cuts and bruises and saw her settled on a plush bed. Then Atwah escorted him back to help Yasin “dispose” of Joe’s body.

As he trudged to the landing pad he silently cussed his stupidity. If he hadn’t acted like a total...butt head...over Caitlyn’s reaction to the music box, which he’d totally forgotten about buying, she wouldn’t have been hurt. And she wouldn’t have seen Joe “die.”

Atwah left Stillman under Yasin’s guard so he could return to the mansion, presumably to keep an eye on Caitlyn.

Stillman fumed at Yasin as soon as Atwah was out of earshot. “I don’t want that motherfucker near her.”

“He won’t molest her, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Yasin assured him. Joe’s body had been moved to a small cart, and covered by a green tarp.

Stillman lifted the tarp. “Are you okay?” His stomach did a three-sixty. The torn and bloody T-shirt looked too damn real. But it moved with Joe’s regular respirations. Followed by soft, heartfelt swearing.

“I’m feeling lower than flea-shit right now,” Joe said.

“I know, it never occurred to me she’d react that violently,” Yasin said as he climbed behind the wheel of the cart. He started the electric motor and looked at Stillman with real regret in his eyes.

Stillman settled in the seat next to him and scrubbed a hand over his face. “If we’re handin’ out guilt, I’ll take mine with two swift kicks to the ass. If I’d been standing where I was supposed to be, she wouldn’t have seen your damn convincing bloody pyrotechnics.” He propped his boot up on the padded dash and leaned an elbow on his upraised knee.

Yasin had rigged a bulletproof vest with small exploding bags of blood, just like stuntmen did for movies. When he shot a round of blanks into Joe’s chest, he’d detonated the charges with a remote control.

“I’ve never tried it before. Supposedly, the DEA guys use them all the time.”

“What I know is I can still hear Caity’s screams in my head,” Joe muttered from under the tarp.

That silenced all of them. Stillman had to tell her the truth as soon as they were alone. But could she be as convincingly devastated in front of Atwah once she knew Joe was safely off the island?

“No offense, Doc, but I don’t like leaving her here,” Joe said.

“Yeah, but with you gone, she’ll have one less person to worry about,” Yasin observed accurately. He parked the cart alongside the boathouse and shut off the motor.

Stillman climbed out and scanned the manicured lawn and overflowing planters with their brightly colored flowers and greenery. The four boat slips were big enough for small yachts, the boathouse bigger than his apartment.

“How come we’ve never seen any workers? This place is immaculate, and that takes laborers. Lots of them.” He knew firsthand. As a kid he’d spent part of the year at his parents’ thirty-acre estate when he wasn’t stuck in boarding school or their Fifth Avenue apartment.

Yasin looked around as if he hadn’t noticed his surroundings. Yeah, right. The man noticed
everything
, even when he seemed oblivious.

“Whoever owns this place has a small army that comes in on Mondays. They clean the house, mow the lawn, do all this.” He gestured to the flowers. “We’re still trying to track the real owners. It’s hidden in corporate sleight of hand, but sooner or later we’ll find them.”

He dropped the slatted wood tailgate on the little trailer and gestured to Stillman to join him. “There aren’t any listening devices down here, but they do have security cameras, so we have to make this look good.”

It took ten minutes to get Joe moved to the small cigarette boat moored in the boathouse. Air-conditioning and a stocked refrigerator would keep Joe comfortable until Yasin moved him after dark. Fortunately, Atwah expected cold storage to preserve the “body.”

Saying goodbye was as emotional as any Stillman had experienced in battlefield partings. The stress of the hijacking had forged a bond few civilians understood. Their handshake turned into a backslapping awkward hug that left both men shuffling their feet and avoiding eye contact for a moment or two.

“Take care of Queen B. She...hell,” Joe began, studying the carpet, his hands on his hips. “She’s damn special. I expect to get her back, ya hear?” He glanced up and drilled Stillman with narrowed eyes. “Monday, beer and nachos at Jose’s.” He nodded at Yasin. “Guess that includes you.”

Stillman followed Yasin out of the boathouse. “Any news on our target or timeline?”

Yasin shook his head as he climbed into the cart. “I couldn’t get hold of anyone this morning. They were all in some big powwow. When I hand Joe over tonight, I’ll see what’s going on. Atwah’s foul mood generally means he’s run into trouble. He doesn’t deal well with disappointment.”

Yasin drove Stillman to the mansion and escorted him to his new quarters. “Atwah’s not a voyeur, but most of the rooms in the mansion are wired for sound and video—the owner’s doing, not his. With you both locked in, I’m guessing if you were to disable them, he won’t do anything about it. He has bigger problems taking all his attention right now—like when and where the bomb delivery is.”

As Yasin unlocked the room door, Stillman hadn’t decided how to tell Caitlyn about Joe.

She practically threw herself into his arms when he stepped through the doorway. “God, I was afraid they’d killed you too,” she said in a voice that quivered ever so slightly.

He wrapped her in his arms and just held on. It felt right.
He
felt right with her heart beating against his.

It didn’t last long—not near long enough. She pushed away, head up and eyes blazing. “That son of a bitch lied to us.”

The queen wasn’t just unhappy, she was royally pissed.

Hell, she vibrated with anger. That was an emotion he knew how to deal with.

“It means they’re all dead, doesn’t it? Ryan, Clay and now Joe.” It was a whispered statement, not a question. She began pacing the floor like an expectant father, her motions jerky, lacking her normal fluid grace.

“They’re all dead. Well, he can forget all about his little plan. I’m not doing anything he wants,” she muttered.

Shit, she was planning a revolt. “Queeny, I—”

“No! The queen died with J-Joe.” The stricken look was gone in a flash and her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t get in my way. The BITCH is back. And she’s
not
standing down.”

Chapter Eleven

Caitlyn ignored Stillman’s scowl. Good. He’d be easier to deal with if he was angry with her. And if she didn’t think about all that she’d lost—

Tyler
. Oh God, she’d forgotten all about Joe’s son. He was supposed to move back home because his mother was dying. Pain sliced through her self-absorption, ripping a soft cry from her heart. Her legs gave out and she sank to the floor.

“God, Caitlyn. Is it your head? Can you hear me? Caitlyn!”

Stillman’s panicked voice connected and she blinked up at him. He’d moved her to the bed and was leaning over her with decidedly un-doctor-like fear in his eyes.

“Tyler. I forgot all about Tyler,” she said and tried to sit up. Stillman’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“No, stay. Who is Tyler?” He kept pressure on her shoulder and sat on the bed next to her.

She forced tension out of her muscles.
Control, Caity, control what you can, and let everything else go.
A deep breath helped her achieve at least the illusion of calm. Enough that she could speak about the painful subject without crying.

“Joe’s son.” The boy had given Joe purpose outside of himself. Claudia, his ex...now that was a subject better left untouched.

“Let me sit up.” Stillman relaxed his grip but didn’t move an inch. She scooted to the headboard and he leaned over to prop a pillow behind her head.

“You should stay lying down until we know how bad your concussion is.”

“Whatever.”

He sighed and sat back, his blue eyes inscrutable. “I thought Joe was divorced. Does Tyler live with him?”

She blinked away the burning sensation. Tears were a waste of energy and never accomplished anything. And based on the funny look Stillman got whenever she lost it, they scared the crap out of him. “No, he lives with Claudia, the ex from hell, but since she’s dying, Tyler and his mom are—were—going to move back to Florida to be with Joe. Tyler’s only eleven.” Okay, she had to check the ceiling before her eyes overflowed and freaked out Dr. Please-don’t-fall-apart-on-me-now.

He swore and it helped ground her emotions. Her stomach cartwheeled off the bed. “Guess I get to be a mom sooner than I thought.” Claudia would freak, but since she had limited resources, mostly because of a nasty attitude, she’d end up grateful. Not that she’d ever admit it.

Stillman looked like he’d been slapped with a paternity suit.

“Relax, Doc, I’m not talking about the kind brought on by pregnancy.” A squiggle of disappointment winnowed through her chest. If his expression was anything to go on, fatherhood wasn’t on his agenda. She closed her eyes and let her head relax into the pillow.

Too bad, she could picture him teaching Tyler how to fly in that little red and black tail-dragger...or maybe a little girl. With ginger-colored pigtails.

“You’d take responsibility for Joe’s eleven-year-old son?”

His tone oozed disbelief. She cracked one eyelid open. “Yeah. Why? Don’t you think I’d make a good mother?” Both eyes were open now. She’d have to hurt him for sure if he laughed at the idea of her being a mom. Motherhood and flying were two skills she never doubted. Her pedigree might not match Stillman’s blue blood, but her nurturing gene was as good as anyone’s, and better than most.

He eased back, his expression suddenly guarded. “I don’t know. I guess I figured your career meant more to you than that.”

She sat upright. “What the hell does that mean? I can’t fly helicopters and be a mom at the same time? Welcome to the twenty-first century, doctor. Women don’t have to stay home to be mothers unless they choose to.” She twisted around and punched her pillow. Probably safer than punching him like she wanted to. Idiot.

Her eyes prickled again and she whacked the pillow a couple more times. “I think I’ll take a nap now.” Her heart hammered like a piston rod with a spun bearing. When the hell had she let him unwrap her emotionally? Just because he liked her weird sense of humor, was a gifted doctor and could fly a mean eight-sided loop with an aileron roll across the top, didn’t mean she had to go and fall in love with the man.

Oh yeah, there was that damn Energizer Bunny.

“Hey, honey, what’s wrong now?”

Maybe she would have been okay if his voice hadn’t softened or if she hadn’t looked into his worried and oh-so-damn-blue eyes. But it did and she did. And she lost it after all.

“Oh God, Stillman, I’ve let my whole damn crew get killed.”

* * *

Stillman held Caitlyn as she cried for the second time that day. And he knew he had to come clean now or risk losing her. And now, after hearing her talk of taking in Joe’s child, getting spitting mad when he challenged her about becoming a mother, he couldn’t imagine letting her go.

God, he was in so deep he couldn’t see any way out that wouldn’t cost him his heart.

“Shhh, Queeny, you did no such thing.”

She punched his arm with her fist. Hard. “I told you, the queen—”

“No, she didn’t.” He put his lips to her ear. “Promise me you won’t react. Remember surveillance cameras,” he breathed the words to her.

She stilled instantly. And imperceptibly nodded her head.

“Joe’s very much alive.”

A tremor zapped through her body like an electric shock. Her fingers dug into his arms. “All of them? They’re alive?” she whispered without shifting in his arms. “You promise?”

He nodded then sat back to look at her face. Tears still tracked down her cheek, but he saw relief, and something else he was afraid to believe in. Something he thought he’d stopped believing in when Hilary walked out on him.

“I think we need to fumigate this room.” Caitlyn scissored her legs over his head and hopped off the bed before he could stop her. “I think I’ve found all of them, but could use a more experienced exterminator.”

She bent over in front of him and his breath stalled, thinking she was going to kiss him. He sure as hell needed her to. Instead she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and wiped her eyes dry. “You little witch.”

Her grin looked beautiful despite the battered face. “That’s BITCH. Queen BITCH,” she said in a horrible James Bond imitation.

Stillman opened his mouth as Caitlyn turned, then slowly closed it. He jerked his hand through his hair and called himself every kind of fool. Thinking he loved her was one thing—confessing it, a whole other proposition—one that opened him up to a world of hurt. He stood to follow Caitlyn into the bathroom. He couldn’t afford platinum and diamonds today any more than he could when he married Hilary.

He’d tried to laugh off the silly gift Atwah had teased Caitlyn about. The little music box had been an impulse buy after all. He’d spotted it at the airport when he’d taken Hilary to catch her flight. The tiny plane had reminded him of Caitlyn flying loops in
George
.

Stupid as it was, her casual disparagement had hurt nonetheless.

“Dr. Terminex, your expertise is needed in the bathroom,” she called.

Her absurd need to name things—him included—made him smile. Then he chuckled as he looked around the plush room. He had another reason to disable all the bugs. They hadn’t used all the condoms.

Jacksonville, FL,
Friday, 23 September, 1535 hours

Agent Munson had moved Valerie to a different location. It looked more like a war room than a conference room, complete with whiteboards and speakerphones. The polished mahogany table was dotted with leather binders, yellow pads and pencils. All eyes were focused on her.

Besides Munson, her audience was made up of four agents and two admin types, scurrying in and out. She’d slept, showered and they’d fed her. And hallelujah, her migraine was gone. Life was good once more.

“Gentlemen, and ladies,” she said with a nod to each of the serious faces watching her, “I’ve been reviewing all the data I collected and think I’ve found your target.”

They held their collective breaths and waited.

“It’s his brother’s home.” She gave Munson her best smug smile and folded her hands on the conference table. “The Miami mansion, not the Egret Isle one in the middle Keys.” She waited a full second as papers rustled and agents exchanged furtive looks. “My educated guess is that Atwah, Yasin, the female Coast Guard pilot and her helicopter, are all hiding on brother Ali’s estate. Of course, you already know that since you have your man there.

“If you look at history between these brothers, you’ll see over twenty years of hatred. Ali received the better education. He received his father’s name, his business, his respect. Atwah, sorry, I know that’s not his real name, but that’s how I think of him. He grew up in his older brother’s shadow. The rift widened after the incident with their mother. I don’t know for sure who concocted the lies about the woman, but they went their separate ways after her death. Atwah returned to the States to go to college. Here is my research.”

Valerie opened her briefcase and handed her highlighted papers to Munson. She couldn’t give him all of her contacts because of promises she’d made, but she wouldn’t hold back information any longer. “Ali really does appear to be tied to al-Qaeda. Despite what I heard Atwah tell his brother on the phone, the only allegiance he seems to have is to himself. The man is an intelligent, driven psychopath. His uneasy partnership with Ali is a ruse. I believe if he gets his hands on the bomb Ali is trying to procure, he will use it on his brother.”

The overall room tension went up and the looks became pointed. “All right, apparently what I said isn’t news to you all,” Valerie said and sat back. Hell, maybe they were better info scavengers than she thought.

Munson shuffled the papers she’d handed him and smiled. “No, that’s not quite true. We hadn’t made the connection to his target. Saturday night, Ali is hosting a party at his Miami estate. Imagine the guest list. Heston, get a copy ASAP.” His face went back to normal, nondescript. “Why would Ali help him? I don’t get that connection.”

Valerie grinned. “That’s where we come full circle—in a roundabout way,” she said and laughed at her own joke. Hell, none of these stiff-jawed Feebs would. “Ali is using his brother for his own purposes. I don’t think he believed Atwah could pull off the hijacking. Now that he did, he’s going to manipulate Atwah into a position where he can steal the money Atwah raised for the bomb as well as take control of the helicopter and its crew.”

She sat back in her leather chair and beamed at the ever so slightly stunned audience. They hadn’t quite connected all the players after all. “Now, given Atwah’s hatred for women, I really, really hope that Coast Guard pilot is the one that takes him down.”

Egret Isle, FL,
Friday, 23 September, 2105 hours

Caitlyn stretched and rolled over. Pain, sharp and scratchy, yanked her from the languid half sleep she’d been luxuriating in for the last thirty seconds or so. She bolted up as she remembered where she was and what Stillman and Yasin had done. She closed her eyes and touched the knot on her forehead. If given the opportunity to join in the plan she would have agreed to it since it removed Joe from danger. But not knowing had certainly ensured a very realistic reaction on her part. Bastards. Maybe if the roles had been reversed, she would have done the same thing. Yeah, okay, she would have because it needed to be real.

She opened her eyes, then blinked several times. The room was pitch-black and her heart threatened a riot.

“It’s okay. You’re here with me,” Stillman’s rumbling voice said from the darkness to her right.

“Why are the lights off?” Her voice sounded normal, didn’t it? No hint of the irrational fear that had plagued her since she was ten. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. Wouldn’t the good doctor love to hear all about that little childhood incident? Not in her lifetime.

“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s easier to sleep with them off?” came his dry reply.

“Well, it sounds like we’re both awake now.” She scooted to the side of the bed, her hand searching for the lamp.

A soft light came on before her hand ran into anything. “Thank you,” she said, her body immediately standing-down from its red alert. A fancy glass-domed eight-day clock sat on the nightstand, the three little golden balls turning hypnotically. She blinked stupidly at it. Twenty-one-oh-seven? What the hell happened to the day?

The bed dipped and she jumped. “Relax. You’re as nervous as a cadet at first inspection.”

His husky chuckle calmed her fear, but sent her blood bounding into tender territory. Oh. Wow. She slowly turned and looked into sexy, summertime eyes. They were alone.

Unbidden, the day’s activities came back with a rush. She even vaguely remembered him waking her up periodically to make sure she knew who she was.

“God, I’d forgotten about our extermination mission.” There hadn’t been any cameras in their room and Stillman had boosted her up to reach the listening devices mounted on the ceilings in the bedroom and bath. They’d only disabled some of them, keeping enough in working order to prevent Atwah from taking notice.

When Yasin brought them dinner, he’d confirmed marginal sound transmission in the security monitoring room. He said Atwah spent more time on perimeter security and rarely paid attention to the hostages’ room. It wasn’t like he thought they had any secrets to tell. The door and windows were all alarmed, so any attempt to escape would be heard all over the island.

Caitlyn touched fingertips to her swollen cheek. “I bet this looks even worse than it feels.”

Stillman slid across the bed to sit beside her. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

His hand was gentle and made her think of how they could spend the rest of the night.

The way his eyes dilated confirmed his thoughts matched hers.

“If I were a gentleman, I wouldn’t suggest anything more strenuous than a soak in the tub and a light massage.”

She smiled at the way his gaze drank in her breasts. The man made no lame excuses for the way he worshiped them. “Thank God you’re a pilot, not a gentleman. Otherwise I’d have to seduce you out of your good intentions.”

He frowned and ran his finger down her cheek. “I wish I could put antiseptic cream on this.”

“Could you make that baby oil? And if you accidentally spilled it...”