Pilot Error (20 page)

Micki looked up from the chaos that was spread from one end of the table to the other, and wearily blew a lock of loose hair from her eyes. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

"Well, what do you know?" Luke said to Fizz. "The lady actually admitted I was right about something."

Micki eyed him with mock affront. "Don't push it, Yank."

Shaking out the Mylar blanket, Luke chuckled. He settled himself on the floor, covered his legs, and patted the floorboards beside him. "Come on, we can keep each other warm."

His hopes rose to a breathless high as he watched her give serious consideration to the invitation, then took a nose dive straight into cold rejection when she gave him a smug grin.

Micki gestured at Fizz's makeshift bed of rags. "Fizz and I will sleep over there."

As she moved over to her dog, Luke rose to his elbows with a frown, choosing to take offense than to give in to the more dangerous emotions that beset him. "What? You don't trust me to be a perfect gentleman?"

"In a word, no."

When the lightning flashed again, drawing her attention to the window above the sink, Luke knew that despite her words, there was nothing she would like better than to creep into his arms for protection. Her set shoulders also told him it was absolutely the last thing she was going to do.

"I've heard that 'keep each other warm' line before," she said flippantly, making herself comfortable alongside the dog.

A stab of real jealousy hit Luke from somewhere out of left field. "From Dirk Jurgensen, I suppose."

Micki scowled at him. "I told you, he's just a friend."

But Luke couldn't let it go. "Seems to me you're getting awfully bent out of shape about this if he's 'just a friend.'"

"I'll thank you to stay out of my personal life."

"The guy's a crook, Micki. I don't want to see you accused of anything, just because you and he are 'friends.'"

Micki rose to her elbows, too. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You really don't have any idea, do you?"

When she shook her head, Luke sat up. He dug several sheets of damp, folded paper out of the side pocket of his camera bag and tossed them to her. She flipped through them, and he watched her expression shift from curious, to bewildered, to just plain mad.

"These are... copies of my business ledger. And my log book. When did you—? You stole this information from me!"

"That's why I came to Marathon, to gather evidence. And those," he said, gesturing at the photocopies, "go a long way to proving your involvement in all of this."

"But I..." She shuffled the pages back and forth, confused. "I don't understand."

"Have you ever heard of
Marion's Trinkets
, up in Miami?"

"It's Dirk's retired old aunt's junk shop," she confirmed. "He collects odds and ends for her down here, and pays me to deliver them to her. What about it?"

"Jurgensen doesn't have an Aunt Marion, Micki—old, retired, or otherwise. The junk shop is a front for a nationwide distribution center, and what you've been delivering are some of the counterfeit goods he illegally imports through the Florida Keys."

She threw down the copies. "That's ridiculous. Dirk... I know him. And I'm telling you, you've got the wrong man."

"Why do you think I singled out
Jacinto Scenic Flights
?" When she opened her mouth but made no comment, Luke pressed on. "Washington has suspected that shop for some time now. We had a name—Bulldog—but nothing to tell us who that was or where he was located. My own brother turned out to be the missing link. When he died, this—" Luke touched his watch "—made me turn my attention to Marathon, and consequently, to your charter business."

"But—"

"And when they dredge that helo and find those counterfeit spacers," Luke insisted, "Washington is going to suspect you for the same reasons I did—because of your 'friendship' with Jurgensen. Damn it, Micki, you have records of trafficking the stuff for him!"

"Stop... accusing him, okay?" She screwed her eyes shut for a moment, composing herself. When she opened them and looked back at Luke, there was pleading in her expression. It was admirable of her to refuse to believe her 'friend' was a crook and a killer. Admirable, but wrong. She was silent for a moment, as if digesting it all, then asked, "So, am I still a suspect?"

Luke studied her in a flash of lightning. "No, not anymore. I believe you had no idea what you were really transporting. And I'm willing to testify to that when this thing finally goes to court."

Instead of looking relieved to have his support, she looked miffed. "That's what the gun thing was all about this afternoon, wasn't it. You wanted to see what I'd do with it. If I was guilty, in with the Bad Guys." She picked up the damning photocopies and threw them at him. "I saw you take an empty clip out, so don't deny it. You let me have an empty gun to test me."

Luke reclaimed his evidence. "Well, look at it from my point of view—"

"Your point of view?" Furious, Micki sat up and glared. "It seems to me that this whole shebang is about your point of view. Didn't you ever stop to consider my point of view? I mean, these maniacs shot us out of the sky and almost killed us, and what did you do? You dumped me on a sandbar in the middle of the ocean, and left me!"

"I came back."

Micki wasn't listening. "And now you're telling me that I might go to jail for trying to help out a friend?" Groaning, she lay down on the bed of rags and put her back to him. "I don't want to hear anymore."

"Come on, Micki, I said I believe you."

Peeved silence reigned.

"Okay, look, I was completely wrong about you. I never should have jumped to conclusions, and I'm... sorry for not trusting you sooner."

Lightning and thunder crashed about them, making her twitch despite her anger. Even with a temper, the forces of nature still scared the life out of her. Luke watched her try to suppress a shudder, and guessed it was as much from fear as from the temperature. He may not be able to do anything to soothe her apprehension, but he could abate her chill.

Bundling the blanket, he tossed it across to her. "Here. Take this."

Micki tossed it right back. "Keep it."

"But if you're cold—"

"But nothing. I can see now that what we have here is a business arrangement. I'm the owner of
Jacinto Scenic Flights
and, as you've been so fond of reminding me today, you're the paying passenger. It's my job to look after you, Mr. Hardigan, and that means if there's only one blanket, then you take it."

Luke sighed in frustration. It would only be a waste of breath to argue with her. Damn, he had said he was sorry, hadn't he? "Suit yourself. I'm going to sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be another busy day."

Rolling over, he spread the blanket over himself and closed his eyes. If she wanted this—wanted them—to be strictly business, then so be it.

It was bound to be a lot easier on them both.

***

Luke pretended to sleep while Micki tossed restlessly next to Fizz on their bed of designer cast-offs. Cold wind continuously swept up through the cracks between the shanty's floorboards, while the storm continued to rage outside, making Luke genuinely grateful for the thermal blanket that covered him... and genuinely sympathetic to his companion's plight. She was cold and scared, and still stubbornly refusing all offers.

Once, when he thought she was finally dozing, he crept over, intent on covering her with the blanket and dealing with the fallout in the morning, only to be chased away by a very unladylike threat if he proceeded. Retreating in provoked animosity, Luke had angrily rolled himself into the blanket with his back to her, deciding she could do with a few lessons in customer courtesy.

Twenty minutes after that, he devised Contingency Plan B, which was if he stopped pushing and let the choice be hers, then surely she would come to her senses. She didn't want his sympathy—okay, he could respect that. But this was survival and since she was practically programmed to survive, the idea was to make her think he was slumbering and selfishly unaware of her discomfort. Maybe then her instincts would tell her the best place to be was under his blanket, if only long enough to chase the chill from her bones and the fear from her soul.

Hours later, as he waited in vain for those instincts to overcome her stubbornness, Luke fell asleep for real.

It seemed only a few moments had passed when he was jolted awake by a solitary dog bark. Groggily noting the weak sunlight filtering in from around the window shutters, Luke rolled over and saw Micki, still across from him on her own bed, crack open equally dazed and fatigued eyes.

Fizz drew both their attentions, scratching at the shanty door. Seeing the disturbance was only the dog wanting to be let out, Micki groaned and flopped back down.

It was then that Luke heard the outboard motor.

"Micki, get up!" he said, now wide awake and untangling himself from the Mylar blanket.

"Can't you just let him out for me? Trust me. He's a big dog; he'll be okay outside by himself."

Crossing to her on his knees, Luke shook her shoulders. "It's not that simple, beautiful, we've got company."

"Wha...?"

Spinning to sit, Luke dragged on his socks and still-damp shoes as the familiar sound of the speedboat slowed to idle. Someone was beaching on the sand, and ten to one odds it was not a rescue party. "Micki! Get up! Now!"

The harshness in his tone had her glaring at him. Even tussled by sleep and clad in a jogging suit that was three sizes too big, she looked like a million bucks. Fizz trotted over and nudged her with his nose at the same instant she heard the murmur of male voices outside the shanty.

"We've got company," Luke repeated softly.

Micki sat up groggily. "Maybe it's the Coast Guard?"

"No, I'd know the sound of those red-hulled speedboats anywhere. They're going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Besides, what are the chances of the Coast Guard picking this shanty to search when we're miles from the plane wreckage?"

"Oh, shoot!" Micki hissed. Forcing herself awake, she took his lead and started pulling on her socks and boots.

Fizz growled softly at the approaching intruders.

"Keep him quiet," Luke instructed. "I don't think they know we're in here."

"How do you know that?"

Standing, he hoisted the strap of his camera bag onto his shoulder and retrieved his Beretta to check the magazine. As he tucked it into the back of his borrowed jeans, he met Micki's hesitant blue eyes. "Because they haven't started shooting yet."

With a dread look, Micki hushed the dog and darted over to the table. The contents of her survival backpack still littered it in a disorderly fashion. Playing for time, Luke grabbed the remaining intact chair and wedged it under the door handle as a meager deterrent.

"That's not going to hold them for long," she whispered, grabbing items at random and stuffing them into the backpack.

"It doesn't have to. Come on."

"Where? I hope you have a plan, Luke, because there's only one way in and out of here, and that's through that door."

Beyond 'that door,' a male voice said, "What the hell?"

The evidence of their forced entry from the night before had been noticed. Someone tried the doorknob but the wedged chair held it closed—for the moment. At the murmur of rough-edged male voices discussing the problem, Fizz gave them away with his intruder barking, his hackles raised right down his back.

"Come on!" Luke insisted. He grabbed Micki by the hand and propelled her toward the sink. "Maybe we can sneak around and get to their boat."

"Wait, my pack!"

"Leave it, there's no time."

Throwing open the window above the sink, Luke shoved her through it. It overlooked the wooden tower that held the catch-and-store tank at the back of the shanty. They could climb down that while their pursuers concentrated on breaking through the front door.

At least, that was Luke's plan. He'd heard only one speedboat. He was counting on there being two men onboard—three at most—and that they'd all gone to the front to check without leaving a rear guard. If he and Micki could reach that boat...

Just as the thought occurred to him, he heard the speedboat revving to full power as it pulled away. Scratch Plan A. Now they would have to make a run for the jon boat.

A shout came from beyond the front door as Micki clambered through the window. "Open the damn door and nobody gets hurt!"

Balanced on a thin ledge on the water tower, Micki bent to speak as Luke put his foot through to freedom. "I'm not leaving Fizz!"

Sliding out onto the ledge with her, Luke transferred the strap of his camera bag to her shoulder. "Take this. I'll get Fizz." He turned to call the barking dog as the first gunshots were fired at the front door.

Leaving his post, Fizz sprinted to him in a black and white blur. Precariously balanced on the thin foothold outside, Luke reached in to grab his collar. A spray of bullets chewed into the door. Several vicious kicks followed, and slowly the only thing standing between them and their pursuers began to splinter under the assault. More gunfire and cursing followed. Seconds counted now.