The Spy Who Loves Me (22 page)

It was a long shot, and Amber was risking a bullet in the gut as much as Finn was risking one in the back, but they had to take the chance.

 

As Amber had hoped, Finn's break to the front of the plane had confused Prado. He'd glanced toward the cockpit door, and in that instant, she dove, sliding the rest of the way to him on her belly and catching him by the ankles.

Fate was on her side, because they hit an air pocket, and the plane dropped, the motion sending Prado sprawling. The gun flew from his hand, clattering across the metal flooring to balance precariously in front of the open door, nothing but sky beyond.

Amber threw herself forward as the wind ripped around them, icy cold. She slammed her hands on his chest and straddled him, the boots she'd found in the utility room gripping the floor and providing some traction.

“Get off me, you bitch!”

“Not a chance!” She grabbed hold of his arm and twisted until he screamed in agony and rolled over. She held him that way, face-down with his arm behind his back, as she reached for a cargo strap that was secured to the floor by Velcro.

She ripped the strap free, then twisted it around his arm. But before she could secure his other arm, the plane lurched sideways, throwing her balance off.

Prado didn't waste any time. He swung his leg back and over, tossing her onto the ground. Then he scrambled to his feet and stumbled to the open door. Two parachutes were strapped behind a bungee cord. He grabbed them, tossing one out into the sky and holding tight to the remaining chute. “See you in hell,” Prado said, not even bothering to put it on as he leapt from the plane.

Shit.
Amber rushed to the open door, the wind stinging her face. Below her, Prado seemed to float in midair, the clouds and ocean beneath him, as he struggled to don the chute.

Finn burst through the cockpit door.

“What the hell did you do?” she yelled.

“I didn't touch a thing,” he shouted over the din. “He preprogrammed some maneuvers, and I can't get access. Not before we crash, anyway. Plus, he dumped the fuel.”

Amber realized the plane was now on a slow descent.

“We're going to crash and there's nothing I can do about it.”

“Come here,” Amber said, even as she yanked another cargo strap loose. “And hurry.”

Finn was at her side in an instant.

“Behind me,” she said, her voice almost swallowed up in the wind. “Grab my waist.” He did, and she looped the thick cargo strap around them like a giant belt, then pulled it tight and secured the buckle. She could barely breathe, but she didn't want to lose the man.

“What are you—”

“Just cross your arms over my chest, grab your wrists, and
don't let go.”

She didn't even give him time to answer. She couldn't. Precious seconds were ticking by…and Prado was getting farther and farther away.

She heard Finn's sharp intake of air as she jumped, but to his credit, he did exactly what she'd told him, holding tight around her chest. He even did more, seeming to instinctively know how to help her by keeping his legs in line with her and not fighting her movements. A good thing, too. She'd never jumped without a chute before, and she sure as hell had never done it with a man strapped to her back. If they survived this, she was definitely putting in for hazard pay.

Below them, Prado had struggled into the chute and was in the typical boxman position. Good. That meant he knew what he was doing. If she was lucky, he was going to stay in free fall for a while…and that gave Amber just the edge she needed.

She aimed her face down, legs straight back, getting into the most aerodynamic position possible. They were moving faster than Prado now, gaining with every second of the fall. Her eyes stung as the wind bit into them, and blinking offered no relief. The discomfort wasn't a concern, though. Landing with a splat was about as uncomfortable as you can get, and she didn't intend to let that happen.

Closer…closer…

Almost there…

And then they were in position, about thirty feet above Prado and a little to the right. She used her arm as a rudder, guiding them to the left. Maneuvering was tricky with Finn's extra weight, but she managed to finesse it until they ended up in Prado's burble.

Once she was in that pocket of dead air, it was easy. Without the resistance, they literally fell on top of him. The element of surprise is a wonderful thing, and in midair, it's hard not to be surprised when someone falls on your back. One solid punch to the temple, and Prado was out like a light.

Amber flattened out, Finn still on her back, and her right hand grasping the strap of Prado's harness.

“How are we going to get the chute?” Finn shouted, his mouth right at her ear.

A good question. Even if she took the chute off Prado, it wouldn't fit around both of them. And Amber had no interest in loosening the strap that bound them together. It would be altogether too easy to lose Finn to the deep blue sea.

“We're not,” she finally shouted, not certain he could hear her over the din.

Having made the decision, she realized it was the only possible one she could have made, and she tugged Prado toward her, looping her arms through the straps of his chute. Once her arms were secure, she clamped her legs around his thighs and hooked her ankles together. She gestured for Finn to do the same.

Behind her, she felt Finn nod as he released her chest and instead hugged the straps. At the same time, his legs curved around, also enveloping Prado.

She twisted, managing to get her mouth near his ear. “Have you ever skydived before?” she yelled.

He nodded.

Considering how unobtrusively he'd clung to her back, the answer didn't surprise her. But this was going to be different. She took a deep breath as the wind screamed past her ears, and the deep blue of the ocean was fast rising up to meet them. The jolt of the chute opening was going to practically rip their arms out.
“Don't
let go,” she shouted. “For any reason.”

“Right.” The wind and his reply echoed in her ears.

She nodded, then let go of her hold on Prado's harness just long enough to release the pilot chute. “Here we go,” she said, and as she spoke, the main chute deployed, jerking them upward as the canopy caught the wind. Pain shot through her body, her arms and shoulder joints bursting into red hot flames.

But that was a small price to pay for being alive.

F
inn prayed.

As they'd been hurtling through the atmosphere toward Prado, he hadn't had time to form coherent thoughts, his head too filled with visions of a violent and messy death.

Now, he was making up for lost time. And, though he hesitated to be too optimistic, he was beginning to think his prayers were going to be answered.

Below them, the deep blue of the ocean was broken by a lush island and, in the distance, a shore. Dozens of small boats were anchored off the island, bobbing peacefully. The aerial view was tranquil, belying the circumstances that had led Finn to such a perspective.

“Beautiful, isn't it,” Amber said. He clung to Amber's back, her body heat filtering through him, a counterpoint to the chill of the thin air.

Finn grinned. She had a way of reading his thoughts. “One of the perks of your job?” he asked. “Getting a new perspective on the world?”

“Absolutely,” Amber said, her voice filled with such awe that he knew she meant it. Now that the chute had slowed their descent, he could hear her much better.

“So where are we?” he asked. “Catalina?”

“I think so,” she said. “Yeah. Definitely. There's the casino.”

Finn looked down from the dizzying height that was rapidly decreasing. Sure enough, he could make out the familiar round structure on the far side of the island.

“We need to try and get to that side of the island,” Amber said. “The backside is basically wilderness, and unless we get lucky and hitch a ride with a dive boat, we'll have a daylong walk ahead of us.” As she spoke, she tugged on the chute's cords, expertly steering them.

“I guess there's no chance of getting across the channel to Los Angeles,” he said.

“No way,” she said. “We're descending too fast. We'd come down miles from either shore and end up shark bait.”

“So how
do
we plan to get from Catalina to Los Angeles?”

“One step at a time,” Amber said.

“Check his pockets,” Finn said.

Amber nodded and scrounged, her delighted “aha” letting Finn know she'd found something. He couldn't see what she was doing, but from her movements, he guessed she was tucking it into her coveralls.

Prado groaned, his eyes still closed as he shook his head.

“Welcome back to the living,” Amber said. And then she let go of the straps and unhooked her legs from around his body. “Let go,” she ordered Finn.

“But—”

“Just do it,” she said.

He did. And they plunged the remaining distance to the ocean below.

The cold water of the Pacific sucked them in, and Finn struggled with the belt that kept him attached to Amber. Her hands closed over his, pushing him away gently as she released the buckle. As soon as they were separated, he kicked to the surface, breaking through just as she did.

He gasped for air, coughing up the salt water he'd swallowed during their unexpected dive. Above them, Prado still glided on an air current. A glint of sunlight against metal caught Finn's eye, and he realized the man had pulled out a gun, probably from an ankle holster that had been out of Amber's reach.

With a determined jerk, Finn grabbed Amber's hand, diving back beneath the water's surface just as the bullet whizzed by.

Amber whipped around, giving Finn a thumbs-up sign as she dove deeper. He followed, feeling absurdly proud for the kudo.

They stayed under the water until Finn had almost reached his level of endurance. Then Amber surfaced, Finn right beside her. They broke the water, and Finn gasped for breath. “You said you wanted adventure,” she said. But her smile was weak, her face a little too pale.

“Are you okay? Did he get you?” He reached out for her, but she kicked away, avoiding his touch. Finn frowned, more disturbed than he should have been by her distance.

“Come on,” she said. She kicked toward the shore, and he followed in silence, first checking the skies for any signs of Prado. The thug, however, was long gone, his chute disappearing over the hills on the south end of the island.

Colorful boats bobbed in the water in the distance, but the area where they'd landed was empty, several hundred yards away from a cordoned off swimming area. They headed toward the beach, and as soon as their feet could touch ground, they half-stumbled, half-swam for the shore.

He crawled out of the water and onto the sand, breathing deep. “Where to?” he asked, even as he silently prayed for just a moment's rest.

“This looks good to me,” Amber said, as she collapsed into the sand, her face to the afternoon sun.

Finn joined her, the cool, wet sand against his body remarkably relieving. And as he lay there, staring at the cloudless sky, he reached out and found her fingers.

And, to his infinite relief, she didn't pull away.

 

She needed to move, needed to get to the mainland and contact Brandon. Needed to set in motion the wheels that would ultimately stop Drake and his insane plan.

But she couldn't. Couldn't move, could barely even breathe. Exhaustion and the brittle heat of fever had taken her and she could only lie there, breathing in the salty sea air and letting the sun's warmth beat against her body, tackling the fever's residual chill. She hoped she'd made the right decision by not trying to take Prado out before dropping into the ocean. But the truth was, the man was small potatoes. And considering her weakened state—not to mention the man who'd been strapped to her back—she needed to stay focused on stopping Drake, and not on risking her ass taking out an underling.

Now she simply lay there, soaking in the sun's soothing rays, her heart pounding and her head clouding. Finn's hand held hers tight, and as much as she wanted to pull it away, she couldn't. It would take so little effort, and she had strength enough. But she wanted the support. Needed it, and she was too sick to fight a longing that she knew she would ultimately regret.

And so she held on, and when he squeezed her fingers, his grip tentative yet supportive, she squeezed back. And then, because she couldn't stand it any more, she let the void take her and plunged into sweet, safe blackness.

 

“Amber. Amber, wake up.” Finn's voice. And his hand on her shoulder.

She blinked, barely able to see through the haze that filled her head. Fingers of pain radiated from her shoulders, and she trembled from chills even as her body heated to temperatures found only in hell. “How long?” she asked, forcing the question out. “How long was I out?”

She turned her head, fighting pain and nausea, and realized they were no longer on a beach, but were instead on a hard metal bench. “And where the hell are we?”

“Long Beach,” Finn said.

Of all the answers he could have given, that one hadn't even been on her radar. “How?” she asked, trying to make sense of events. She couldn't. She knew only that her body had broken down. She'd fought the fever and infection as long as possible and as soon as the adrenaline rush had faded, illness had taken hold. “When?”

“Just now. On the ferry. I found a couple of hundred in Prado's wallet, and I carried you. Most everyone on the ferry thinks a bottle of tequila got the better of you.” He shrugged, then ran a hand through his hair, his eyes bloodshot. Lines etched his face, both exhaustion and concern. And that one gesture spoke volumes. The man was bone weary and in way over his head. But he'd taken care of her.

“I—”

“Don't even say it,” he said. “I didn't know what else to do. You needed some rest, but we needed to move, so a hotel wasn't an option. What you
really
need is a hospital, but I figured you'd have my head if I took you to one.”

“You're right about that.” She managed a weak smile. “Cold,” she said. “So cold.”

“I know.” He gathered her closer, his arms around her chest. “I don't have any blankets. But the sun's warm, and our clothes are dry, and I'm not going to let go of you.”

“Thanks,” she said, hoping that got the message across because it was the best she could do.

His eyes searched hers, and then he nodded, apparently satisfied. “You're welcome. But we need to get out of here, and since I don't know where else to go, I'm going to take you to a hotel and call a friend of mine who's a doctor.”

“No,” she said, fighting to get the word out past her parched lips and swollen tongue. “There's someone better to call….”

 

“The plane went down, sir. It's a heap of twisted metal by now, and them two along with it.”

Drake kept his eyes down, concentrating on the paper he was folding. The origami kept him sane. And it kept Beltzer alive. Because if Drake's hands weren't otherwise occupied, he doubted he could have resisted the urge to pull his sidearm and pop the son of a bitch.

Beltzer was lucky.

Drake crimped the paper, creating the chicken's beak. As much as Beltzer tried his patience, the truth was that Drake had a soft spot for the idiot. The man could be dim at times, but he was loyal to a fault. And with Drake that counted. A lot.

“Have we heard from Prado?” Drake asked, when Beltzer finally quit rambling.

“No, sir.”

“No, sir,” Drake repeated. “And what were Prado's orders?”

“To get rid of Teague and the girl. Crash the plane, dump them in the ocean, and signal for a rescue copter for himself.” He paused. “Sir.”

Drake crossed his arms, waiting.

Beltzer looked down, then side to side. “Sir?”

“We haven't heard from Prado, you imbecile,” Drake said, his words measured. “And until we do, we cannot assume that the mission is complete.” He waved a hand toward the door. “Take a team, find my man, and get confirmation that Ms. Robinson and Mr. Teague are dead.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, then turned to head out the door.

“And, Beltzer,” Drake added, “don't come back without answers.”

 

“Holy shit,” Brandon said, the second he saw Amber lying limp in Finn's arms. Teague was holding her in a bridal carry, and Amber had one weak arm thrown around the man's shoulder. Brandon slammed the Buick into park and jumped out, racing around the front of the car to take her from Teague, who looked about to collapse himself.

“Kline?” Finn asked, before he relinquished Amber.

“Who the hell else?” Brandon answered. “Let me get her in the backseat.”

“Watch her shoulder,” Teague said.

Brandon nodded, noticing that the back of her coveralls was stained a brownish red. He closed his eyes and allowed himself one silent curse before hustling her into the car. He kept an aid kit under the driver's seat, and he dug out a vial of penicillin and jammed a hefty dose into her thigh. She was feverish, dehydrated, and in desperate need of an IV, but that was going to have to wait. “Get in,” he said to Teague, who'd been watching the whole procedure with an unreadable expression.

Finn didn't hesitate, just slid into the passenger side and waited for Brandon to get the car moving. “How much do you know?” he asked.

“Not a damn thing,” Brandon said. “Except that you called my cell phone and told me to get my ass down to Long Beach to give you two a lift. And you told me not to call in any other help from the Unit.” He paused, looking Teague in the eye. “I took one hell of a chance, Teague,” he said. “For all I know, you sliced her shoulder yourself, and you're looking to weasel your way into our organization.”

To his credit, Teague didn't start protesting his innocence. Instead, he just looked over his shoulder to Amber, curled up in the fetal position on the Buick's backseat. “Just doing what the lady asked,” he said. “She only wanted you.”

Brandon nodded, willing, for the moment, to believe Finn. “Why?”

“She didn't say,” Finn said. “But I'm assuming she thinks there's a mole in your group.”

Brandon already knew that, but he was surprised that Amber or Finn knew as well. “Why the hell do you think that?”

“A guess,” Finn said with a shrug. “But a reasonable one. On the plane, they had no idea who she was. The next day, suddenly Drake not only knows she's an operative, but knows the agency she's with and her name.” He met Brandon's eyes. “I figure somebody must have clued him in.”

Brandon nodded, tending to agree but ever cautious. “Could be he sent her picture and prints to one of his sources. She's crossed paths with CIA, NSC, MI5, Mossad, DGXE, and countless other agencies. Anybody could have snitched on her.”

“All right,” Finn said, twisting around to look at her. “So maybe there's not a mole. But there's still a risk.” He turned in his seat, and Brandon saw real concern on his face. “I may be new here, but I'm not blind. Amber knows her stuff, and she thinks you need to avoid the Unit. If you're going to go against her wishes…”