Operation Midnight Read online

“I know.”

  Hayley heard the exchange and registered that the man her suddenly recalcitrant dog seemed so attracted to was apparently named Quinn, but she was mainly focused on getting them both out of here. Normally she was able, barely, to lift Cutter if she had to. But dragging him when he was actively resisting was something else.

  She turned, intending to walk away, hoping the dog would just follow; normally he always did, not liking her too far away from him. Not that he was behaving normally just now, but—

  She gasped as the man called Quinn suddenly appeared in front of her, blocking her path. She hadn’t even heard him move. And in that instant the entire scenario went from ominous and unsettling to threatening. Because clearly this man was not going to let her just walk away.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said.

  Then he grabbed her, so swiftly she had no time to react. He ran his hands over her, so obviously searching that any thought that it was some personal assault never really formed.

  She elbowed him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  It was a rhetorical question, and it got the answer it probably deserved: nothing. She tried to pull away again but he held her in place with ease, warning her without a word that he was much stronger than she.

  And then he lifted her off the ground. She fought, clawing, kicking, landing at least one solid blow. She barely had time to scream before she was physically tossed aboard the helicopter. She twisted, trying to get out before the man called Quinn got aboard. Cutter, she noticed through her panic, did nothing but whine in obvious concern. Somehow she’d always assumed the dog would defend her, would attack, bite—

  She was pushed down into a seat. She scrambled to get to her feet, but Quinn leaned over and grabbed Cutter, tossing the fifty-pound dog into her lap as if he weighed no more than the duffel bag that followed. And then he was aboard himself, and the door slammed shut behind him with grim finality.

  She sat in the seat he’d shoved her into, her heart hammering, her hands shaking as she clung to Cutter, fighting to wrap her mind around one simple fact.

  They were being kidnapped.

  Chapter Two

  “You were no help at all,” Hayley muttered to the dog overwhelming her lap. Yet despite her surprise at that—a tiny emotion next to the fear that was growing every second—she clung to the furry bundle. The dog didn’t seemed bothered at all by what was happening, just as he hadn’t protested by even a yelp when this total stranger had grabbed him, never mind her.

  She, on the other hand, was terrified. If she hadn’t had the dog to hang on to, to focus on, she was sure she’d be shrieking. And then the rotors began to turn, and she did let out a little gasp.

  “Thanks for the help, Teague,” Quinn snapped at the other armed man. Even though he was practically yelling to be heard over the engine and growing rotor noise, the sarcasm came through.

  The other man laughed. And grinned, a boyish, crooked grin she would have found charming under other circumstances. Now it just added to her growing fears.

  “The day you can’t handle a woman and a dog is the day I quit this gig,” the man called Teague shouted back.

  “I let you fly, so get us out of here.”

  Teague’s grin flashed again, but then he was all business, turning his attention completely to controls that, Hayley noted, seemed to take not only his hands and eyes, but feet, as well. Flying a helicopter was apparently a complicated affair.

  “Belt up,” Quinn instructed her.

  Hayley didn’t react, still watching the pilot as she tried to analyze the easy, friendly banter between the two men. Did that bode well, or worse? She didn’t know, and—

  “Let go of the damn dog and put your seat belt on.” He was yelling again now as the sound of the engine and rotors increased again.

  There was too much dog to just let go of and get her hands on the belt she could see at her sides. And then the man realized that, grabbed Cutter and again lifted him as easily as if the animal didn’t weigh almost half what she did. To her annoyance, the dog didn’t even growl at the usually unwanted liberty taken by a stranger. But she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to anger the man while he had the dog in his arms.

  He seemed to realize that. “You want him back, do it.”

  She reached for the belt ends, then glanced back at her traitorous dog. Just in time to see him swipe a pink tongue over the set jaw of their captor.

  “Talk about fraternizing with the enemy,” she muttered as she fastened the harness-style belt, figuring she was safe enough saying it aloud, it was so noisy in here.

  The only saving grace was the expression on Quinn’s face; utterly startled. She wasn’t sure how she knew it was not an expression he wore often, but she did. He plopped the dog back into her lap.

  “Must you?”

  The barely audible question came out of the darkness beside her, and Hayley realized it had come from her neighbor, the first time she’d ever heard him speak. His voice was a bit raspy, probably, she thought wryly, from disuse. And she thought it might hold a bit of an accent, although it was hard to tell from two words called out over the noise of a helicopter.

  “Sorry, Vicente,” Quinn said, sparking another spurt of annoyance in her; if anybody should get an apology, it should be her, shouldn’t it?

  Teague yelled something Hayley couldn’t hear well enough to understand, but Quinn must have, because he turned his head to answer. Then he reached out and picked something up from the empty front seat. If she had any guts, now would have been a chance, while he was turned away. She could lunge for the door, get away. Problem was, she didn’t think she could undo the belt, hang on to Cutter and get the door open fast enough. She—

  Quinn turned back, and the moment was lost. To her surprise, he jammed himself onto the floor at her feet, although he was tall enough to make it a tight fit. It took her a moment to realize he was staying to keep an eye on them, rather than strapping himself into the vacant seat beside the pilot. That must have been, she thought, what that exchange she hadn’t heard was about. And what he’d picked up was some kind of headset, perhaps something that enabled him to talk to the pilot, or at least muffled the noise that made normal conversation impossible.

  And then she felt the undeniable shift as they went airborne into the midnight sky, and it was too late to do anything but try not to shiver under the force of the sheer terror that was rocketing around inside her. Why on earth had he done this? She’d done nothing, had been more than willing to vanish back into the woods and let them go. All she’d wanted was her dog....

  She clung to her furry companion, his thick, soft coat warming her hands. If there were lights inside this thing they weren’t on, but she didn’t need them to visualize the dog’s striking coloring, the near-black face, head and shoulders, fading to a rich, reddish brown from there back. The vet said he looked like a purebred Belgian breed, but since—despite being the smartest dog anyone she knew had ever seen—he hadn’t shown up with papers, she didn’t know for sure.

  And as comforting as the dog’s presence was—even if he did seem inordinately fond of their kidnapper—she regretted it now. The dog was indeed clever, sometimes to the point of seeming unnaturally so. More than once since the day he’d appeared and proceeded to fill the void in her life, she had wondered if he was really just a dog. He seemed to sense, to understand, to know things that no ordinary dog did or could. And because of that, he would be safer on the ground, able to survive on his own. At least for a while.

  She didn’t want to think about the possibility that it might be longer than a while. Much longer. That it might be forever, if these men had lethal intent.

  She hugged the dog so tightly that he squirmed a little. What had her bundle of energy and fur gotten them into? The dog didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that he was airborne. He seemed to be treating it as if it were merely a more exciting version of the car rides he so loved.

  She ducked her head, pressing
her cheek to Cutter’s fur. In the process she stole a glance sideways, to where her neighbor was seated, carefully strapped in. She still couldn’t see much of him, just the gleam of the silver-gray beard, and a faint reflection from his eyes. He’d said nothing else through this, in fact after his query had seemed to shrink back against the side of the noisy craft, as if he were wishing he could vanish as he had on the two occasions she’d come across him outside his house. She wondered what he was thinking about her sudden intrusion into his affairs, inadvertent though it was.

  But at least he’d made a token protest. She supposed that counted for something.

  Vicente. She’d never known his name. And from the way he’d asked the question, hesitantly, it seemed clear he wasn’t in charge of this operation, whatever it was. Was he rich, was that what this was all about? A kidnapping for ransom? But if so, why was he so cooperative? Not that guns didn’t engender cooperation, but he’d seemed awfully willing.

  Besides, why would somebody who could afford an aircraft like this one need money so badly they’d commit a crime like kidnapping? Unless of course that was how they afforded it.

  Maybe they were drug dealers, she thought, barely resisting the urge to look around and see if there were drugs piled in the small space behind her. Did helicopters have separate cargo spaces? She had no idea. She pushed the media-inspired image of wrapped white packages of cocaine out of her mind.

  There were other possibilities, of course. Terrorists, for instance. They didn’t look it, but what did she know? Maybe Vicente was some sort of master bomb maker, maybe they—

  The helicopter seemed to lean sharply, cutting off her careening thoughts. Just as well, she told herself, you were getting silly.

  At least, she hoped she was getting silly. But what simple explanation could there be for being scooped up in the middle of the night by strange men, along with her possibly stranger neighbor?

  She lifted her head, realized Quinn was staring at her from his spot on the floor. She had no idea what he might be hearing in that headset, but there was no doubt about what he was looking at. As with Vicente, all she could see was the reflection of what dim lights there were in his eyes, and a different sort of gleam on the dark, thick hair.

  Since talking and asking the myriad of questions she had was impossible, her mind was free to race to turn over every rock looking for possibilities. This was not necessarily a good thing, she realized. She’d never thought of herself as particularly imaginative, but the things that tumbled through her mind now could be called nothing less. In the light of day, anyway.

  Quinn seemed focused on her, as if he wasn’t worried about Vicente at all. And if that were true, that confirmed her neighbor was part of this, in some way. It made her shiver anew to think what the man might have been up to just a couple of hundred yards away from her home. That he might have had very good reason to stay hidden.

  Cutter returned the scrutiny, keeping his eyes on the man on the floor, occasionally stretching out toward him with his nose, apparently still in love at first scent. It really was strange, the way the dog had reacted to this man. Under other, normal circumstances, she might be inclined to trust the dog’s judgment; more than once he’d been wary of someone she’d later learned was worthy of the distrust. And if he liked someone…well, at the moment the jury was out on that.

  And it finally occurred to her to wonder why the man had brought the dog along. He’d only hesitated a fraction of a second before picking him up and putting him in the helicopter after her. Had he assessed that quickly that she’d do what she had to to protect the animal? Including cooperate with him?

  The more she thought about that, the more it frightened her. That he had realized, that quickly, that Cutter could be the key to her cooperation told her more than she wanted to know. Clearly whoever and whatever he was, he would use any tool that presented itself.

  She stared back at the man, her mind providing an image of what she couldn’t see in the darkness, filling in details she’d glimpsed in the deck light. The strong jaw, the stern mouth, the dark brows with the slightly satanic arch—

  Okay, that’s enough of that, she ordered herself, and looked away. At least his image would be clear enough to tell someone what he looked like, she thought.

  Someone? Like the police?

  Her breath jammed up in her throat, unable to get past the sudden tightness as the obvious belatedly hit her. She’d seen them. All of them. But why hadn’t they just killed her on the spot, then? Had they been in too much of a hurry to get away? Or had they just not decided her fate yet?

  More likely, she thought grimly, they had a place where they disposed of bodies, and it was easier to wait until they got there.

  And all her imaginings suddenly didn’t measure up to the horror of the reality, and even the darkness couldn’t make it any worse.

  They flew on and on, until her half-crazed mind would have sworn it had been days if it weren’t for the fact that they were still and ever in darkness.

  And underlying it all was the grimmest imagining of all, that she might never see the light of day again.

  Chapter Three

  “Coming up on the airport in about ten.”

  Teague Johnson’s voice came through loud and clear over the headset, with none of the crackle or hiss the old headsets had been prone to. Worth the price, Quinn Foxworth thought as he lifted the flap on his watch that kept the dial’s glow from being seen. 0315 hours. Not bad, well within the parameters they’d set despite the…complications.

  “Fuel?” he asked.

  Normally it wouldn’t be an issue, they planned carefully, but they were carrying an extra passenger. And a half, he added with a grimace. That dog....

  “It made a difference,” Teague answered. “It’ll be close, but we’ll make it.”

  “Copy.”

  He went back to his study of their unplanned-for passenger, while that half-passenger continued to study him. The dog’s dark eyes never left him, and he didn’t have to be able to see in the dark to know it, although his night vision was remarkably good.

  He knew little about the workings of the canine brain. And had no idea why the dog seemed so…taken with him. It would be amusing if it wasn’t so puzzling.

  His owner, on the other hand, wasn’t taken with him at all, Quinn noted wryly. Too bad. She wasn’t bad-looking. At least, from what he’d seen. And felt, during his cursory pat down and when he’d put a hand on a curved, tight backside to shove her aboard. It had startled him, that sudden shock of interest; there’d been little time for women in his life for…a very long time.

  And there was no time now, he told himself. They’d be on the ground soon, and vulnerable for the few minutes it would take to refuel. And it had better be only a few minutes; they’d paid enough extra to guarantee it. They could have avoided this by using a plane, with longer range, but in this semirural area it would have meant transporting Vicente by ground to an airstrip, and then from an airstrip to the location on the other end. And that would have made them even more vulnerable.

  The unexpected intrusion of woman and dog hadn’t delayed them much, since he hadn’t wasted any time dithering about what to do. But it was costing them more fuel; even though she looked to weigh maybe one-twenty at most, the dog added another forty-five or fifty pounds—five of that fur, he thought—and together that was the equivalent of another passenger about Vicente’s size. On an aircraft this small it mattered, not so much in space as in fuel efficiency. But their timetable, and getting Vicente out of there, had been the most important thing.

  And secrecy. The man was a valuable commodity, and they couldn’t risk leaving behind somebody who could tell anyone anything.

  He felt the shift in angle of the chopper, knew they were approaching the small airfield where they would refuel. He saw the woman’s head come up a moment later, as she apparently realized it, too. Her gaze shifted to the port window, then, obviously able to see nothing but night sky, shifted f
orward, as if she were trying to read the controls for a clue.

  Could she? Did she know something about helicopters, or aircraft gauges? She didn’t seem to be affected by the flight, no sign of air sickness or dizziness when they had made any quick changes. Unlike Vicente, who had required a serious dose of motion sickness medication to tolerate the flight. Quinn had been glad to give it to him; drowsiness was a side effect, and that was fine with him.

  He’d thought about making the woman take some, too, under the guise of not wanting her to throw up in his helicopter. But there hadn’t been time, and getting it down her would have been too much hassle. Besides, he wanted a chance to assess her under controlled circumstances. And there weren’t many more controlled circumstances than strapped into a helicopter seat at ten thousand feet and a hundred and thirty-five knots.

  So far, she hadn’t been trouble, but he wasn’t about to turn his back on a woman who rushed a man with a drawn weapon. And even when her face had been hidden as she clung to that damned dog, he couldn’t escape the feeling that she was thinking like mad, and that didn’t bode well for keeping things simple.

  As they dropped lower she became more alert. He smothered a sigh; as if he could hear her thoughts, he knew she was trying to figure out a way to escape. He reached out and slid down the built-in shade on the porthole she’d been looking out; the more ignorant they could keep her of the surroundings, the better.

  He flicked a glance at Vicente, who seemed to be sound asleep, propped in his corner. He was a tough old bird, he’d give him that. He’d barely turned a hair when they’d shown up in the middle of the night and taken over. But given his history, that wasn’t surprising.

  But this young bird, this wary, watchful female of the species, he didn’t know. So he had to assume the worst.

  “It’s all yours when we touch down,” he said into the headset.

  “Problem?”

  “The old man’s asleep. Our uninvited guest is plotting.”