Storm the Author's Cut (4 page)

She smelled the alcohol on his breath and felt trapped. When his hands tightened possessively on her arms, she twisted away. "Ken, we can't be alone. Not tonight."

"Dammit, Laurie! We can't wait until next summer to get married! It's too long!"

"We'll discuss it later—tomorrow." She reached up to kiss him quickly and lightly.

"We'll go out by ourselves tomorrow," he told her, with the tone in his voice that reminded her so much of her father. "We'll go up to Tlell for the day."

"Yes, please. I'm sorry I'm such a wet blanket tonight."

Her apology brought a smile from him and a moment later she was able to quietly climb up the stairs, alone.

When she slipped into the upstairs bedroom, she found Bev asleep in the bed nearest the window. Laurie slipped off her shoes and dress, careful to be quiet and not disturb her sleeping friend. The pioneer who had built the McDonald house had cut local trees to make thick, solid timbers that the downstairs party sounds couldn't penetrate.

Bev and Laurie had spent so much time together as children. Bev had always been the even-tempered one, free from the passions and restless urges that had consumed the teenage Laurie. Now their roles had switched. Laurie's life was settled with Ken and she could see her life stretching into the future.

Voices drifted up from the lawn below as someone left. Tomorrow she would tell Ken about her excursion to the seaplane docks tonight. In the morning she would find a way to mention the interview casually.

The wind blowing through the open window felt good on her bare skin. She had been hot and hectic, dashing from one story to another all day. She felt cool now, soothed by the sea air.

The cool, crisp sheets soothed her when she slipped between them. She felt wide-awake but she slowed her breathing and concentrated on the slow, monotonous process of breathing in... out... in...

She dreamed she walked the beach with Ken, far away from the city, from any road. Above them a seaplane wheeled out of control. When it crashed to the ground she began to run, knowing she must hurry to save the passengers from the wreckage. But the faster she ran, the more her feet sank into the soft sand. Then Ken tried to pull her back and she struggled with him in the sand, knowing the men in the airplane would die if she couldn't save them.

He wouldn't let go. His hands held her wrists trapped. She begged him to release her and twisted in his grip, desperate to free herself before it was too late to save—

"Laurie, wake up."

She came awake abruptly, still struggling. It took a moment to focus on the shadowy form of Bev bending over her.

"You were dreaming. Are you all right?"

"Dreaming?"

Surely it had been more than a dream?

"You begged Ken to let you go."

Laurie shuddered in the cool breeze through the window.

"It wasn't Ken." Dreams could twist feelings and emotions until they had no relationship to reality. "A seaplane went missing today. I did a story on it. Then—we've been partying here, having a good time, but those passengers may die if we don't find them soon."

"Not
you
." Bev's hand gripped Laurie's shoulder. "You mustn't torture yourself with every plane that goes down. If you could help, of course you would. But there's nothing we can do.

Laurie squeezed her eyes closed hard until her field of vision turned red. "What time is it?"

"Two-thirty."

"Did I wake you?"

"I wasn't sleeping. Night shift turns me around—I woke up a while ago."

"It'll be a while before I sleep again after that dream!" She hugged herself and heard the silence of the house. "The party's over."

"Hmm. I went down for a drink of water an hour ago. Except for you and me, the house is asleep."

But summer nights were short in the north and in about an hour the sky would begin to lighten.

"Luke Lucas is going out searching at daybreak. The rest of his planes are already down on Moresby Island."

"Lucas? Do I know him?"

"He turned up about two years ago—bought QC Air from Brady."

"I wonder if he's related to Doug Lucas? He wouldn't be from Vancouver, would he?"

"Who's Doug Lucas?"

"A Vancouver billionaire—mansion on south-west Marine Drive. He's in hotels—like your dad."

"My father's hotel is never going to make a million, much less billions, and if Lucas were related, that's the sort of thing that would be sure to get around. I heard he worked as a bush pilot in the Yukon before he came here. But you know local gossip. If he doesn't talk about himself, someone makes up a story for him. "

"Did he give you a good interview?"

"He didn't want to talk. I interviewed Chief Hall. He was a passenger on Lucas's plane. He volunteered to stay up in the air, to help spot."

Bev yawned.

"I've got the interview on my recorder," said Laurie. "I need to take it to the station for the morning news."

"In the middle of the night?"

"I may as well. I'm not tired. I'll edit the interview, then go down to the seaplane docks. Nat wanted an interview."

"The man won't talk. How can you get an interview?"

She shivered at the memory of his eyes, but pushed the blankets aside. "I need to go."

"Laurie, it's three in the morning! Mom would have a fit if she knew you were going out prowling the docks at this hour! And Ken..."

"Don't wake them up." She pulled open a drawer and removed a pair of jeans and a thick sweater.

All night the memories had been working on her. If there was anything she could do about that missing plane, she had to do it. She snapped the denim jacket closed and pulled her keys from her purse. She wouldn't need the purse, but maybe the wallet?

No, too bulky.

"Laurie? What are you up to?"

"I'm going up in that search plane."

She pulled a couple of twenties out of her purse and slipped them in her hip pocket, prepared for some nebulous, unforeseen financial need.

"What makes you think he'll let you on the plane? He wouldn't even give you an interview."

"I've got to try." She pulled on a pair of walking shoes.

"Laurie, you're not trying to rescue those men, you're trying to make up for Shane's death."

Chapter 3

Laurie's car wheels crunched on the gravel of the parking lot but the man working down on the wharf didn't look up. She closed her car door softly, in no hurry to attract his attention.

She carried a small pack swinging from her hand as she walked down the ramp in her thick rubber-soled shoes. The islands in the harbor were outlined in silhouette against the grey eastern sky. Beyond the islands, the ocean swept away until it met the sky in a dimly seen horizon. The dull, moody water moved slowly in the harbor.

The Beaver was almost loaded. Lucas lifted a pack, the last thing sitting on the float beside the plane, and swung it easily into a back compartment with the casual motion of a strong man in good condition.

It was unlikely that anyone had ever called him handsome. His face was too strong and rugged, and his eyes too piercingly analytical. The hard lines on his face made it hard to judge his age, but she guessed him at somewhere in his thirties. This morning he'd dressed in a thick wool jacket against the cold wind, as if he expected the weather to deteriorate.

"Good morning, Mr. Lucas!"

He looked up, black eyes scanning her trim figure and heavy-duty clothes. He turned back to the Beaver before he spoke, slamming the door to the luggage compartment.

"Where's your recorder?"

"I figured you wouldn't talk to my recorder."

His short laugh surprised her. "I won't give you an interview without it, either," he said mildly. He closed the baggage compartment and opened the front door.

"Let me come with you. I'll help search."

"Bad idea. Twenty minutes and you'd be bored, cold and stiff from sitting in a small space. Probably airsick as well. There's still a gale warning issued for this coast."

He turned his back and stepped onto the pontoon.

"Mr. Lucas!"

He ignored her and walked to the back of the pontoon. Making his pre-flight check, she realized.

"I've lived on these islands all my life," she said, talking fast. "The first time I flew in a seaplane was when my mother brought me back from the hospital as a baby. My father was an amateur pilot until he got glaucoma and we flew a lot. I've flown this coast, winter and summer. I've been on rough flights. I won't pretend I haven't been frightened, but I've never been airsick and I've never caused trouble for the pilot flying me."

Liar
. She had caused more than enough trouble for Shane, but she mustn't think of that now. Lucas had stepped across to the far pontoon and she could see only his feet beneath the plane.

"Six years ago I lost my brother in a plane crash. I know the dangers of flying in this country and I care about those missing men. If I come with you, it'll double your chances of spotting that plane. Alone, you could fly right over it and miss it entirely."

" I could fly right over the wreck with ten people on board and still not spot it." His voice came from the front of the plane and she saw the propeller move as he hand-rotated it. "Spotting takes practice—you've no idea how hard it is."

"I do, though," she insisted. "My father used to take my brother and I hunting. I've got good eyes and I'm used to watching for something, anything out of place in the bush."

He ducked under the nose of the plane.

When he opened the front door she sensed a flicker, a hesitation, and she moved quickly, taking a chance. She slipped past him and across the empty pilot's seat. She quickly strapped herself into the passenger seat, pushing her pack under the seat, avoiding his eyes as he swung up into the seat beside her.

He hadn't stopped her.

"We're searching the Lyell Island area," he said crisply. "We may not be back until dark." His hands moved over the controls and his shoulder brushed against hers in the small space. Was he avoiding looking at her?

"Won't you have to refuel?"

"At the Lyell Island camp." His arm brushed against her leg as he made an adjustment to one of the controls. The engine coughed to life and she saw him trim the fuel mixture.

When the Beaver started to taxi away from the wharf, she let out the breath she'd been holding.

Ken would be furious. He'd had plans for today and she'd dived into an adventure he would certainly disapprove of. Mrs. McDonald would be angry, too, and no matter how much Laurie apologized, they wouldn't understand how her memories of Shane wouldn't let her stand by and be a mere spectator.

The plane banked to make a sweep of the harbor, flying just west of the exposed drying spit where Sandspit Airport was located. Lucas wore a headset that held a microphone just in front of his mouth. Laurie saw his lips move and strained unsuccessfully to hear over the noise of the engine.

When he pulled the chart from a side pocket in the door she judged the radio conversation was over. She shouted over the noisy engine, "What color is the missing plane?"

Instead of answering, he reached past her legs and pulled a spare set of headphones from under the control panel in front of her. When she put them on, he adjusted something on the panel.

"There's no point shouting at each other. What did you say?" His voice sounded quiet and very clear in her ears.

"What color's the missing plane?"

"Speak quietly and clearly into the mike. Your voice distorts when you talk too loudly. It's a Grummund Goose, silver and black. You won't see the black won't show and unless the sun glints off it, the silver will look much the same as white."

"The sun won't glint today."

"No. We'll be going down to check out everything we see. Look for debris, signs of smoke or fire—any sign of life. If you see anything that looks odd or unusual, tell me."

She turned her head away from him and stared down at the long spit of Moresby Island's northeast end.

"For the moment you can relax," he said. "A fish boat called in this morning to report spotting silver and black Goose shortly before the Coast Guard radio operator lost contact yesterday. The pilot was on course about ten miles east of Lyell Island, but the skipper says he was flying into a squall. Hopefully, the report is accurate because JRCC is basing the search on it. It's the only thing they've got to go on, and it puts the pilot about where he should have been."

Laurie spotted a group of logs off Sandspit and wondered if she would know the difference between a log and a half-submerged seaplane.

"Do you know the fishing boat's name? Or the observer's?"

"The
Julie II
, a salmon trawler. I don't know her skipper."

"David MacDougal. If he says he saw a silver-and-black Goose, you can count on it. He logs everything he sees unless the fish are biting, probably wrote down the exact moment the plane passed over. If he saw the identity letters, he wrote them down too."

"You do know what a Goose looks like?"

"Amphibious plane with twin engines and a big belly."