Expect the Sunrise (34 page)

Ishbane sidled next to Flint. He looked exhausted, but his dark eyes held a new hue. “I’m sorry,” he told Andee. “I should have believed in you.”

She shook her head, shaking. “No, you should have believed in
us
. We all did it. We believed we were dead, but God saved us, showing us that He could rescue us.” In so many, many ways.

“Are you going to Prudhoe Bay?” Flint asked Ishbane.

Ishbane braced himself as the chopper fired up, and with the engine roar, Andee barely heard his words. “No, I think I’ll go home. See if anyone might be waiting for me.”

Lacey settled beside Andee, Hank at Sarah’s head, as the helicopter lifted into the air. Andee wondered what might be waiting for her and where she might call home. Again, fatigue washed over her, dragging her deep. She fought the tug.

In the back of her thoughts she had a memory, something soft and sweet that filled her fuzzy brain and coaxed her back into slumber.
I love you, Mac.

But what now? Would he blame her for the pipeline’s destruction? Or worse, blame himself for choosing to follow her into the river instead of tracking Nina and the other terrorists?

Everything that had passed between them might not matter anymore. Mac was FBI. So maybe he, like her father, would never have much room for her in his life. Despite any feelings between them, they might be headed for
Gerard and Mary
, Act II.

As the chopper veered south, Andee looked out the port window in time to spot black smoke spiraling into the sky.

Mac motored toward the pipeline and the fireball. Another explosion made him stop the four-wheeler and dive into the bush for cover. Smoke billowed into the sky—black, acrid, the oil fueling the inferno. The blaze seemed alive, growling as it ate its victim.

He couldn’t believe he’d failed. Or rather that God had failed them both. Especially after he’d made the agonizing decision to trust. What if he hadn’t gone after Andee?

He didn’t search for an answer because he couldn’t bear a glimpse at the what-ifs.
Please, God, save Andee!

He climbed back onto the four-wheeler, wondering where Andee’s friends were. As if in answer to his thoughts he heard gunshots popping through the blaze. He angled toward the flames that topped the trees, cutting through the forest. Responsibility gnawed at him and dissected his options. Did he help Micah and Conner, or did he gun it for the nearest shutoff station?

What if this was only the first of many explosions?

Please, please let pipeline security notice the smoke from the line.

He debated for a moment before the sound of more gunshots galvanized him. Whoever was shooting—and he had a good guess that it was the terrorists because Hank had said that Micah and Conner didn’t have weapons—knew just how many bombs had been planted and where.

Mac slowed the four-wheeler, hopped off, and crept toward the Dalton. Hiding behind a bushy pine, he parted its branches and stared out onto the road.

Sitting in the middle of the gravel road was an old Cessna 185. The plane burned, flames shooting skyward, as if it had been loaded with gas or oil. The smell bit at his nose, but he nearly crumpled with relief as he looked beyond the plane to the pipeline.

The pristine, still-intact pipeline.

Intact for now.

More gunshots snapped Mac to attention. He scanned the forest for the shooters. He guessed one was Nina. She wouldn’t be hard to find in her red, fleece-lined jacket and cap. The others, well, he’d caught a glimpse of one across the river. Dark hair, green army jacket, bunny boots.

He dropped to the ground, listened, and headed toward the sounds. He wished he had a weapon, but his hands and feet had enough fury to power a small nuclear station, and they seemed sufficient artillery.

He crept through the forest like a fox, ducking under trees. They couldn’t be far. Especially if they had fired the plane without remote detonation.

Another shot.

And then Mac spotted them.

Or at least what he thought was movement. He trained his gaze on the shadow he’d seen, and sure enough, moments later the person jumped to his feet from behind a downed pine and fired off another round.

Mac stole close, his heartbeat in his ears. He could see the man easily now, his black cap, a line of sweat dripping down his tanned face. He recognized him from their brief encounter at the river. How Mac wished he’d actually left a welt when he’d fired that rock. River Man stood again and Mac sprang.

In his peripheral vision, Mac saw more movement, but he concentrated on tackling the shooter. He connected, and the man went down hard, just as a shot winged over Mac’s head. Mac subdued River Man before he had a chance to breathe, crushing his face into the loam, grabbing his hands, and twisting them back into a submission hold. The man thrashed against Mac’s grip.

“Welcome to Alaska,” Mac growled.

Screaming behind him made him turn. His mouth half opened at the sight of Nina similarly pinned, the knee of her assailant dug into her spine. The man—or rather
commando
—looked up. Mac recognized Special Forces when he saw it. The soldier/camper had greased his face with dirt, and he wore a black turtleneck, a wool stocking cap, and jeans.

“Hi,” the man said, his eyes pinned to Mac’s.

Mac met his gaze. “I really hope you’re on our side.”

Nina struggled, and the man tightened his hold on her. “I hate to do this to a lady,” he said.

“She’s no lady,” Mac snapped.

The man gave the barest of frowns, then looked past him. “We’re clear, Iceman!”

Iceman?
Mac heard the snapping of brush, and another man appeared.

Dressed in black, with a stocking cap and an expression that made Mac bristle slightly, he held a 9 mm pistol in his gloved grip. The man stopped. “Micah,” he finally said to Mac, “and that’s Conner. We’re looking for Andee MacLeod.”

Weren’t they all in a way? But still,
these
guys were Andee’s friends?

Mac nodded, fighting his last image of her—pasty white, weak, hypothermic.
Please, God, let her be all right.
“She jumped into the river to escape. She’s with your other friends now.” Mac brushed off the fear that reached up to strangle him. Focus. “I need to get some backup in here.” He took out the radio.

“And call for a helicopter while you’re at it,” Micah said. “I have Andee’s dad, and he’s in bad shape.”

Mac turned to the pipeline frequency and contacted the pipeline security. Their terse tones confirmed that yes, they’d spotted the smoke, and they were already headed toward their position to assure the pipeline’s integrity.

Mac watched with grim satisfaction as Conner and Micah bound Nina and her cohort with their shoelaces. He’d used that trick before. Then they dragged the pair over to Micah’s gully of cover. Another man, wearing a grimy black parka, lay incapacitated, bound, glaring at the other two. And next to him, watching him with a death look and white-fisting a thick club, sat a man who looked like he’d gone one too many wrestling rounds. Mac recognized Scottish features—black hair and blue eyes—somewhere in that mass of cuts and bruises.

“Gerard MacLeod?” Mac asked as he knelt beside the injured man.

“Is Andee okay?” the man answered, confirming Mac’s question.

Mac didn’t know how to answer. He swallowed, dredging up a reply. Maybe? As if speaking for him, a helicopter droned far overhead. “She’s hypothermic. But hopefully headed to Fairbanks.” He noticed the catch in his voice.

Gerard leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes, as if giving in to pain for the first time. “My Andee is a fighter,” he said softly, but Mac saw the worry on his battered face.

“Okay,” Micah said. “I know this might sound a bit shoot-first-and-ask-later, but really, what is going on here? When Gerard told us to blow up his plane, it seemed prudent to obey. Sorry about your ride, though, Gerard.”

Gerard looked at him and shook his head. “If they had gotten into the air, it would have been all over.”

“They’re terrorists,” Mac elaborated. “Pipeline saboteurs.” He glanced at Nina. “This one was on the plane with us, and she kidnapped Andee with big plans to meet her partners in crime.” He saw Nina’s eyes narrow and fought back the urge to unload just exactly how he felt about her betrayal.

Please, Lord, let Andee be okay.
He turned away. “I love you, Mac,” Andee had said as she’d slipped in and out of consciousness in his arms.
Oh, Andee, I love you too.
Only he hadn’t said that.

Yet.

“Who are they working for?” Micah asked, standing beside one of Nina’s accomplices.

“I don’t know.” Mac had his guesses, however, starting with Al-Hasid’s cell. He fixed his gaze on the man at Gerard’s feet. It seemed he looked … familiar. In fact—“Is that Constantine Rubinov?” Drug lord, murderer, now terrorist? And Al-Hasid contact?

Gerard said nothing but let escape the smallest of smiles.

In the distance, Mac heard the hum of four-wheelers. For the first time in days, he, too, let a smile crease his lips.

Chapter 21

ANDEE FELT WARM, so very warm, the smell of cotton around her like a cloud. Her mouth, however, seemed to stick shut. She heard laughter, so close that if she just reached out, maybe she could grab it, let it draw her out of the darkness.

“Andee?”

The male voice sounded familiar, like a hymn long buried in childhood or the smell of flapjacks cooking on a woodstove. “Andee, wake up now.”

Her eyes opened. Shadow filled the room. She tried to unscramble the smells, the voices.

Then she saw him. Jim Micah, his short dark hair, his gray eyes solemn as they searched hers. “Hey, Andee.”

She must be dreaming, because Conner stood behind him, his blond hair longer than she remembered, tousled in windblown waves. There was a nasty scrape along his jawbone, yet he grinned at her. “Hi.”

“Where am I?” she rasped.

“Here you go.” Lacey, Micah’s pretty wife, leaned over the bed opposite him, offering Andee a drink of water.

Andee drank through the straw, the water hitting her parched throat and burning a little. “Where am I?” she asked again.

“Fairbanks Hospital.” The voice that answered her came from behind Lacey, and Andee turned her head. She smiled when she saw him leaning against the wall, his hands tucked under his arms, wearing loose-fitting jeans and a light blue thermal shirt that did devastating things to his blue eyes. Those blue eyes that she’d seen locked on her as he’d held her in his arms.

Mac. He smiled back, looking relieved.

“Hi,” she said. “Are you okay?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Of course you’d ask that. Aye, my bonnie lass, I’m okay. Now that you’re awake.”

Memory rushed in. Sarah. Her father. The pipeline.

Mac must have read her thoughts because he stepped next to Lacey and took Andee’s hand. “Sarah’s in the bed next to you.”

“How is she?” She turned, looking past Micah.

Sarah sat up in the bed, her hand on Hank’s head. He was sleeping with his head on the bed propped on top of his folded arms. “I’m okay,” she said, facing Andee, “but my head is pounding.”

Andee winced, seeing that they’d shaved Sarah’s blonde hair. A bandage swathed her scalp.

“Twenty-two stitches and a concussion.”

“I’m sorry,” Andee said.

Sarah shook her head. “Not your fault.”

Andee closed her eyes, accepting Sarah’s words. Then, “What about the pipeline?” She searched Mac’s face.

Mac smiled, a slow liquid grin that she felt in her veins. “I think your pals Conner and Micah should tell you how they saved the world.”

“We have your father to thank, Andee,” Micah said. “When we heard your plane was missing, Conner and Hank and I headed north. Conner had the emergency info you gave him, and we figured we’d get in touch with your father because the search teams hadn’t found you. When we got to his cabin, he was gone and we could tell there’d been trouble. Thankfully, he’d turned on the ELT in his plane, and we found it sitting empty on the Dalton Highway a few miles north, along with a trail that might as well have been outfitted with neon lights, thanks to your dad. We tracked him down only to find him in the hands of three armed terrorists. We decided to step in—” he shook his head—“but he probably didn’t need our help. In the end, he put up a good fight and even told us to destroy his airplane.”