Expect the Sunrise (17 page)

Please let this work.
“We’ll pull together,” Andee said as she reached past Nina’s hands on the rope. Her worst fear would be Phillips going over in the attempt to raise Flint. The combined weight of Phillips and Flint might be too great for her equipment. “Phillips, I just want you to anchor Flint. We’ll pull!”

She planted her feet into the scree, adrenaline like heat in her veins. “Okay, pull!”

She and Nina strained on the rope. Andee ground her feet into the rock, feeling her back muscles strain. Next to her, Nina grunted. Andee gathered in the millimeter of rope, then pulled again. Another millimeter. Flint must have the weight of a buffalo. Over the edge, she heard him breathing hard. “Try and get a foothold, Flint! Help us!”

The sound of spilling rocks made her glance up, and fear coiled inside her when she saw Phillips’s foothold break off and shoot into the air. Phillips slid forward, barely catching himself against a jutting lip of rock.

Rocks spit out over the edge.

From the look on his reddened face, Phillips couldn’t hold Flint much longer.

Which meant that in about thirty seconds everyone except Mac and Sarah would fly out over the cliff.

“Pull!”

Did Emma seriously think he was going to sit here and watch them all tumble over the cliff to their deaths? Mac couldn’t believe he’d sat still this long. Maybe he’d been mesmerized by Emma’s coolheaded thinking, her attention to the rescue, in talking Ishbane up the cliff when he would have probably cut the guy loose.

Okay, maybe not. But he had little use for people who surrendered the fight at the first glimpse of pain.

Then again, perhaps it depended on the
kind
of pain.

“Pull!” Emma cried. The panic in her voice bounced against the mountain walls and right into his soul. He glanced at Sarah—eyes closed, breathing—and made a decision.

If they all went over, he wouldn’t go with them. But he wouldn’t sit here either. He kicked a pocket into the scree, securing Sarah into the well. Then he scurried down the mountain, feet-first, toward the rock Emma had used for an anchor. Landing hard against it, he shinnied along Ishbane’s rope toward Emma and Nina.

If Phillips went over, Flint’s rope would hold him. And Mac and Nina and Emma would hold Phillips and Flint.

In theory.

“Hurry, Emma!” Phillips yelled as he moved closer to the edge. “I can’t get a good hold.”

Emma and Nina tugged together, but their progress, if any, seemed miniscule.

Mac reached the ladies, scooted between them, and gripped the rope. “All together now.”

Emma said nothing as they heaved, finally making progress. While Emma and Nina held the rope, Mac grabbed a new hold. They rolled in the slack and pulled again. Phillips grunted, still holding Flint’s weight. But as the trio hauled him farther, Phillips’s load lessened.

Flint’s hands came into view, and he gripped the rocky ledge. To his credit, he pulled himself up, resting on his forearms, breathing hard. His face dripped sweat, probably more from fear than exertion, but Mac also felt drenched.

Beside him, he saw Emma trembling.

They pulled Flint the rest of the way over the edge, and he climbed up, rolling onto his back and scooting toward them, favoring his busted knee. He lay there, still breathing hard.

Phillips backed away from the edge of the cliff and also lay on his back, breathing hard.

Emma braced her arms on her knees and shuddered.

Mac stared at the group. He’d nearly gotten them killed. He’d been so paranoid about a pipeline saboteur he’d practically herded them onto this mountainside, so they could slide off to their deaths. He felt sick and light-headed. “I’m so sorry, Emma,” he said between breaths. “I’m sorry for making us hike out.”

He couldn’t tell her why, because then she’d have to know that he’d suspected her. And after what she’d just done, he couldn’t bear to see the look of betrayal on her face.

In the span of the past fifteen minutes, he’d started to care for this petite pilot. He needed to get off this mountain and out of her airspace and fast, before she started edging in on the parameters he’d set for his life. “Maybe we should turn back,” he mumbled.

Emma looked at him, a frown creasing her face. Her breathing was still labored, and she seemed to mull over his words. “We can’t turn back.”

“Why not?” Ishbane yelled from behind them. His voice cracked, and Mac recognized fear. Well, he’d nearly become granola. Maybe Mac should cut him some slack.

“Because we’re over the hard part,” Emma said, looking past Mac to Ishbane. “Because we’re not giving up—” she paused—“I’m not giving up.”

“Me either,” Nina said. “I will see my family again.”

Mac met Phillips’s gaze, saw in his eyes determination and resolve. The resolve of a terrorist?

Mac wanted to fling himself off the cliff or at least give himself a punch in the chops. There was no terrorist here. He needed to get that through his head before he got them all killed.

“Let’s get off this shifting mountain and onto solid rock,” Mac said.

Emma’s face clouded—partly in shock, partly in realization. “You left Sarah.”

What?

His expression must have betrayed his confusion because she gave him a pay-attention look and pointed to her injured friend. “I purposely asked you to stay there so nothing would happen to her.”

“And to take care of her if you died.”

Bull’s-eye.

She gaped, and he felt some of the hot wind escape from her demeanor.

He nodded. “I know exactly what you’re up to, Emma. I know you feel responsible for us and for our safety. And especially for Sarah’s injuries. But I wasn’t going to stand back and watch while you and everyone else got dragged to your deaths.”

She stared at him, and he saw doubt in her eyes. Yes, he’d given her plenty of reason to believe that Stirling McRae thought only of his higher—private—agenda. But the fact she’d believed that he didn’t care … well, he’d never been that big of a jerk. At least not to his knowledge.

He lowered his voice, his eyes still on hers, hoping every word resonated. “I’m not hiking out of these mountains without you.”

She swallowed and edged up her chin, but in her eyes—past the courage and the hard-edged refusal to let fear gulp her whole—he thought he saw a flickering of relief.

“Where is your contact?”

Constantine’s voice tugged Gerard from the precious blanket of sleep that had soothed his wounds and the worry that gnawed at him. Late-morning sunlight seeped through the windows of the cabin, eating at the chill. Constantine and Juan had stoked the fire before securing his bonds. They’d left Gerard gagged and crumpled in the corner of the cabin, where his mind whirred, concocting escape scenarios until exhausted, he’d slumped over, out cold.

Gerard’s face felt scraped and bruised against the wood-planked floor as he closed his eyes, hoping his captors hadn’t seen him stir.

“Your contact should have checked in by now or at least turned on the GPS signal.” Constantine’s voice held impatience and a hint of disgust.

“Something’s wrong, but my partner knows what to do.” Juan walked over to Gerard. He felt Juan standing above him and braced himself for a kick to the face or the gut. “Maybe we should take a peek from the air. See if they went down.”

“MacLeod will crash the plane with both of us in it if we don’t have his daughter.” Constantine’s voice dropped to a low growl. “He’s been waiting years for a chance to go out in glory.”

Gerard kept his face expressionless, but it goaded him how close to the truth Constantine hit. For too many years after Mary and Andee had left, he’d taken the FBI jobs on the edge, the ones with high risk and low percentage of success. If only his colleagues at the bureau really knew what had driven him and his reputation, maybe they would have forced him to retire much sooner. Maybe change his name, his identity. He would have become someone different. An insurance salesman or a carpenter. Someone who lived a simpler life, one without people shooting at him or his loved ones.

He would have found Mary and stuck around until she believed his apology. And someday he would have driven that haunted, sad look from Andee’s eyes. Instead he’d hidden his pain, his regret, and in the end had only caused more.

“She probably crashed into the side of a mountain.” Constantine pushed back his chair, the sound grating against the floor. “Always trying to keep up with her old man.”

No, Andee so far out-passed him. Even as a child, she’d amazed him. Like the time he’d guided Andee through a dead-stick landing at Anaktuvuk Pass. She’d been sixteen, so pretty, so ready to embrace life. She’d been copiloting for years, but when he finally handed her the controls, it felt as if he’d taken out a piece of his heart and tied it to the propeller.

His palms had sweat as he’d clutched his knees, and he felt her fear as she had eased the plane down, glancing at him for rescue. It took all his strength not to reach out and seize the controls. He’d gauged their altitude, judging the moment when he would take the yoke and land them safely. But he knew that she needed to learn to trust her instincts and her abilities, so he had fought his impulses.

She hadn’t disappointed. Rather, he’d never felt so proud of her in his entire life as when they’d touched down on the runway. However, he bore the weight that she probably didn’t see the lesson the same way. He’d disappointed her in so many ways it nearly crippled him.

“We’ll just have to wait. At least another twenty-four hours.” Juan walked away.

Gerard breathed a sigh of relief through his aching ribs.
Don’t come home, Andee.
How it hurt to wish those words—again—for his only daughter.

Chapter 9

“I’M NOT HIKING out of these mountains without you.”
Mac’s words resonated in her mind as Andee cooked supper on the stove in front of their makeshift shelters. She didn’t know why, but for the first time since the crash she didn’t feel quite so alone. Yes, she knew God had been with them—from the miraculous fact that they hadn’t all been torn apart in the crash to the strength God had given them to pull Ishbane and Flint up the cliff today. But feeling that she suddenly had an equal on her side, helping her lead the passengers to safety, ministered to a barren place within her.

Who would have believed that God would give her a stubborn Scot to help her? Even though Mac had left Sarah when she’d told him not to, he had put his own life in danger when he’d skidded down that mountain to help her pull up Flint. Andee knew they’d all be a pile of broken bones tonight if he hadn’t stepped in with his more-than-ample muscles.

It had taken them twice as long to descend the scree hill after they’d recovered. Flint, aided by Phillips and Nina, descended as a trio, belayed together. Ishbane was next, and Andee had to give the man credit for facing his fears. Mac followed, cradling Sarah in his strong arms. Andee’s heart gave out just a little at that. Andee came last, unbelayed, rolling up the rope, knowing that they’d need it for crossing the Granite River.

They camped at the base of the mountain, the light having dissolved quickly during their descent. Andee had showed them how to secure the tarp at an angle into the hill and separated it into two, so the men could sleep in one and the ladies in the other. She’d fastened the tarp low to the ground with basketball-sized boulders around the edges. The tarp would protect them from the frigid wind that rushed up the mountain. Andee counted on their body heat to keep the temperature above hypothermic levels. She’d made the passengers layer their clothes before they’d left the wreckage, which would help them live through the night.