Pilot Error (9 page)

"Yes, you have. You helped me locate their stash."

"Not on purpose! That was all your doing. And stash of what? Look, what's this all about? Okay, so there was some sort of building back there. It doesn't prove—"

"Micki, they tried to kill us, remember? They're not just going to let us walk away and tell the authorities about it. Right now, if we want to stay alive, we have to buy some time."

Time. It was perhaps the only commodity they didn't have. Micki cast an appraising look at the sky. To the southeast, a squall line of cumulonimbus clouds crouched on the horizon like an invading army waiting for the order to attack. They would gain strength through the brooding heat of the day and eventually move in to envelop the Keys. The sun was still shining where Micki was, but it wouldn't be for much longer.

"There's a storm headed our way," she admitted. "A nasty one from the look of those thunderheads."

Luke glanced upward as if he had never once considered the weather into the survival equation. "What?"

She frowned. He must really be a city boy if he wasn't any more in tune with nature than that. "This is Florida. It storms most every afternoon and—"

"And?" Luke asked impatiently.

"And with the 'Bermuda High' that's been dominating the area for the past week or so, it storms bigtime."

"Great. Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because I'm the pilot, I read the weather brief, and I planned to be back in Marathon before it was a problem. What part of that statement makes you think I should have reported it to you?"

"Since—"

"—you're 'the paying customer and you're telling me to?' Give it a rest, huh?"

Luke shook his head in lieu of getting into another argument. He stood. "Come on, we're wasting time." He moved back into the scrubby vegetation again, leaving her to follow.

Micki bristled at the direct order and stayed where she was, watching him and the orange life vests he toted be swallowed by the thick tropical foliage. It was bad enough that some lunatics with guns considered her a threat to their 'secret hideout,' but Hardigan was not making things any easier by stubbornly refusing to give her the answers she was entitled to know.

With a decisive bark, Fizz bounded after Luke, leaving her alone. Micki sighed, and ran her hand up under her cap to wipe away the sweat encouraged by the Florida sun. There was just one thing she was sure of in this whole mysterious mess. As she climbed to her feet and prepared to follow, she knew that whatever the threat—be it maniacs with guns, approaching storms, or Luke Hardigan himself—the one sure thing was that she was in deep, deep trouble.

***

Ten minutes later they encountered their first obstacle; a horseshoe-shaped mangrove swamp that looked impassible on all sides.

"Great," Micki said, stopping beside Luke on the bank and leaning wearily against a tree. They appeared to have walked into the swamp in the middle of the horseshoe, its arms stretching back behind them on both sides.

Luke's eyes raked the stagnant water, downed vegetation, and maze upon maze of impassible 'stilt roots' from the Red Mangroves. "I think we can cross it."

"Yeah, right," she said with a sarcastic snort. As if she had actually expected him to say anything else.

"I'm open to suggestions."

Micki drew herself up to her full five-foot-six inches and took back some of her lost authority. "Okay, here's one. We double back and find an easier place to get across."

"And run straight into even bigger trouble? They won't be far behind us, you know. And I didn't leave much room for guessing which way we came."

Grunting, she remembered the fallen palm saplings and crushed vegetation they had left in their wake, and wished she had considered that before now. Whoever was pursuing them would not have any trouble deciphering their trail.

"Great. Brilliant maneuver there, Hardigan."

Luke frowned. "Geez, what is it with you and the attitude? It's not my fault we walked into this damn swamp."

"Yes, it is. This is all your fault. If you hadn't decided to use my plane to fly recon, I wouldn't be standing here sweating like a pig and being eaten alive by elephant-sized mosquitoes!" To emphasize her point, she took off her cap and swiped at one.

"You know, I could say the same thing about you," Luke protested. He was turning to jump into the fray with her when Fizz's sudden, frantic barking had him instead casting his murderous look at the dog. "Damn, they'll hear that for sure!"

"Fizz, come here boy," Micki called, knowing he was right and trying to quiet the dog. She pushed Luke out of her way in an effort to reach Fizz first.

The black and white collie whined into silence as Micki came up beside him. He settled for warily regarding a pelican, perched without a care on a fallen tree, on the other side of the dark pool. As Luke joined her, it flapped its wings in obvious irritation to their intrusion.

To Micki, its presence meant the ocean couldn't be far away, probably just through those trees on the other side of the swamp. That, in turn, meant they were just about out of room to run. A sudden chill slipped down her spine. Just how far behind were the men who had already tried to kill her? And what if they had already called in those reinforcements Luke had mentioned?

"Good dog," Luke said, suddenly grinning and patting the black and white ruff. "I think Fizz just found us a way across. Look." He pointed at a fallen tree that stretched almost all the way to the other side of the pond before submerging into the swamp. "But first, I think we need a little diversion."

Without giving her the chance to comment, Luke put down the life vests, grabbed her shoulder and spun her around so that her back was to him. It wasn't until he had moved away and she had turned back around that she realized why. He had unclipped her leather jacket from the backpack and was headed down the more accessible-looking of the two arms of the swamp. About thirty yards in the opposite direction from where they were headed, Luke stopped, looked around, and then dumped her jacket on the mucky ground.

"Hey!" Micki called in protest. Luke jogged back toward her and as he drew within hearing range she said, "That's a three hundred dollar jacket!"

He threw her an infuriating smile. "So add it to my bill," he said without stopping on his way past her to the log bridge. "I'm sure you're keeping tab."

"Too bloody right I will!"

Micki looked back at her jacket, meant to steer their pursuers in a different direction, and considered her options. Luke was right; this island was too small to hide for very long. She didn't hold out much hope for using life vests to get off it, but if she had her choice of meeting the guys with guns on open beach where there was some chance of running away, or pinned inside a swamp, then she'd pick the beach.

Bringing her attention back to Luke, she watched him take his first cautious step onto the rotting log, the action chasing the irate pelican away from his perch.

"Come on," Luke said, moving his other foot to join his first when the log held his weight. "Let's get moving before you get that cute little tush of yours all bitten to bits, too."

'Cute little tush?' Cute little tush, her ass!

Fuming, Micki watched him carefully make his way across to the other side of the murky swamp. Focusing on her irritation was preferable to thinking about what may be behind her, and she seized upon it. The last space to be negotiated was a length of several feet from log to bank, and she found herself wickedly hoping that Luke wouldn't make it and land in the foul-smelling water.

There was no such luck, and he stepped safely onto the far side. Shrugging off his camera bag and putting it down with the life vests, Luke gestured her forward.

"Come on," he urged, extending a hand, "I'll give you a pull when you get over here. It's a doozie of a last step."

Stubbornly, Micki pushed Fizz's haunches onto the makeshift bridge first. The dog wandered hesitantly out along the log, pausing every few steps to sniff the water. With a little encouragement when he reached the submerged end, Fizz bounded up the last bit of steep bank with help from Luke, who grabbed his collar to haul him to dry land.

Now it was her turn.

Micki drew a deep breath and focused on what she was doing. The dark water beneath her reeked of decaying vegetation and rippled with each step she took across the log. The backpack screwed with her center of gravity just enough to make her balance questionable, but she was determined to manage alone. When Luke's hand came into her peripheral vision she angrily batted it away. She was doing just fine, thank you. She didn't need—

The tree dipped unexpectedly, throwing her precarious balance askew, and for the second time that day she found herself toppling over with Luke reaching out to catch her.

Oh, shoot!

Micki grasped his offered hand, but instead of clinging to it for support, she tugged on it firmly in a strange impulse that surprised even her. Thrown off-balance and unable to resist gravity, Luke went headfirst into the pool with her. Even as the murky, sun-warmed water left a slimy coating of muck on her arms and clothes, a smile was curving her lips. Sitting in what she discovered was only knee-deep water, Micki clasped her hands around her knees and laughed heartily.

Luke surfaced with his sunglasses hanging crookedly. After yanking them off his face, he glared at her. "Are you crazy?"

"Crazy enough to have taken you on." Slipping the backpack from her shoulders, she nodded toward the bank where he had left the life vests and asked sweetly, "Want me to throw you one of those?"

Furious, Luke stood up in the shallow pool, the water leaving a film of slime on his bare chest. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Do what?"

"That's the last time I save you from falling on your pretty little butt!"

Micki's glee abruptly turned to rage. Climbing to her feet, she shoved hard against his chest. "I was not going to fall."

"Like hell, you weren't. You just won't admit it. This—" he gestured at the sludge dripping off him "—is
your
fault!"

That was her breaking point. Temper fueled by the frustration she'd been battling ever since she had first laid eyes on him, Micki said, "Why I'd like to... to..." But a suitable retaliation wouldn't come, so she instead settled on, "Screw you, Hardigan!"

He laughed condescendingly and shook his head. "Let me tell you something, beautiful. Not even if hell froze over!"

It took a moment for Micki to realize what she'd just said, and the way Luke had heard it. Gritting her teeth against further verbal blunders, she hoisted the backpack up by its straps and began sloshing past him to the bank.

"Wait a minute—"

When Luke grabbed her wrist to restrain her, the last of her self-control evaporated like raindrops after a spring shower. Micki reacted on a gut level—professionalism be damned. In a fluid movement, she dropped the backpack, pivoted, and threw a right cross at his jaw. The punch connected firmly and sent him staggering backward in the knee-deep swamp.

Luke glared dangerously, rubbing his jaw as he rebound a step or two. For a brief moment, Micki thought he meant to hit her, and her arms came up ready to throw another punch, this time in self-defense. If he wanted a fight, fine. She'd give him a damn good one.

What he gave her was a look that blazed with fiery indignation. "What is it with you, anyway? You dress like a man. You talk and drink like a man. You even fight like a man! You—"

Infuriated, Micki abandoned all restraint and acted on pure instinct. Stepping forward, she buried both hands in fistfuls of his wet hair and jerked his head down toward hers. Driven by an impulse that she did not stop to examine, she kissed him, hard and demanding; demanding something she could not—would not—name.

Grunting in surprise, Luke's hands came up to her shoulders as if to push her away, but stalled there as her kiss deepened. Intent on drawing a response from him whether he liked it or not, Micki put her arms around his neck and pressed closer. At first his lips were angry and dispassionate, but slowly, perhaps after a dozen heartbeats or so, Luke began to respond to her, until she had him wanting more than she was willing to give.

Good. Very, very good. That was the idea—to make him respond. Wasn't it?

Drawing away slightly, Micki broke the kiss then claimed him once more with a gentler, feather-light brush against his parted lips. As Luke began to move in to continue the embrace, she took a step back to evade his reach.

Regaining control, and desperately fighting the chemistry that neither of them had expected to find, Micki asked, "What was that you were saying?"

Short on air, Luke took a deep breath. He gave her a hesitant grin, as if unsure of his status, and licked his lips in meager substitute for her touch. "I was... just saying you... sure as hell kiss like a woman."

Satisfied, she took another step away in silent proclamation that she'd gotten the admission she wanted and that was the end of it. "Just make sure you remember that, Yank."

Turning, she slogged through the muck and swung her backpack up onto the bank. Following it to dry land, Micki left Luke standing in the middle of the swamp staring after her. Not turning to look at the thunderstruck man behind her, she settled the pack on her shoulders again and set off at a brisk pace.