The black helicopter sat in the center of the painted landing circle, as ominous-looking as the clouds. Its massive main propeller vibrated in the wind, giving off a low-pitched drone. No bright paint or corporate logo relieved the dull finish of the fuselage. According to Mitch, it was an old Huey, which had once been the workhorse of the army. Judging by the gun mounts beneath the nose, he speculated it could have originally been used by the military and sold off as surplus equipment. He’d been pleased about that, since he was familiar with this model.
For what had to be the tenth time in the last two minutes, she tried to peer through the glass windows into the cockpit, but all she could see was the reflection of the rain clouds.
“Mitch, hurry,” she whispered.
During their slow climb up the hill, he’d explained to her how he would send a message. He didn’t need to start up the engine. He planned to use the aircraft’s massive batteries to power up the instrument panel and the radio, then tune to the emergency broadcast frequency. He’d made it sound simple.
As simple as remaining undetected while they looked through the Aerie’s front window yesterday morning? Or as simple as escaping in her truck afterward? Or taking out her boat last night?
Mitch, please, hurry up and finish!
She returned her attention to the path that led down to the Aerie. She and Mitch had waited through two complete rotations of Knox’s patrol schedule to be sure they had it right. If the men followed the same pattern, no one would be due to appear for another ten minutes at least. That would give Mitch plenty of time. Unless someone decided to come earlier to beat the rain.
As if her thoughts had made it happen, a handful of drops splatted on the rock beyond the trees.
Chantal pressed closer to the pine as the squall finally arrived. Her jacket kept her upper half dry, but rain drilled against her jeans and her hair. Within minutes, water trickled down the back of her neck and her legs were numb. But no matter how wet she got, she couldn’t move. Mitch would be trusting her to be his eyes. He said he would be looking here for her signal. Her warning could save his life.
Yes, he trusted her. He no longer thought of her as an overindulged, impulsive child. They were beginning to function as a team, in spite of their past and the chemistry they’d acknowledged between them. The magnitude of that fact wasn’t lost on her, yet there was no imaginary celebration from her inner teenager this time. The stakes were too high.
She wiped the rain from her eyes and dropped her hand to her leg as she did another slow scan of the hilltop. It had rained the night Mitch had left, too. It had rained for the entire week after her mother’s funeral. Chantal had gone to the cemetery every day. She had stood for hours beside the fresh mound while the rain dripped from her black umbrella. Sometimes a gust of wind would drive the raindrops against her legs and soak her skirt—her mother had never liked her wearing jeans, it wasn’t ladylike. Mostly, though, the rain had pattered straight down, as if the sky was too exhausted to spend any extra energy on the task.
She remembered that detail about the weather, because she’d felt the same way. She’d wept, but her tears had seeped from her eyes gently, like the rain. To her mother’s friends, the other officers’ wives, she’d appeared the dedicated, grieving daughter. They’d all seen how close the pair of them had been. From the time Chantal had been six years old and had come home to find her mother with her father’s pearl-handled Webley in her hand, she’d been Bernadette Leduc’s shadow. And Bernadette had become the center of her daughter’s existence.
The general hadn’t gone with her on those graveside vigils. He’d grieved for his wife in his own way, a manly dignified-officer way, with a bottle of bourbon behind the closed door of his study. He’d been uncomfortable with her displays of emotion because they had reminded him too much of Bernadette’s. His withdrawal had frustrated her. Like their friends, he’d never understood the complex relationship between his wife and his daughter.
No one did, because she’d never told a soul. So they hadn’t guessed how much anger had been mixed with her grief, and how much resentment she’d felt over having a childhood that no child should have gone through. After a week of standing in wet shoes on the soggy grass, searching for a way to fill the void of her sudden freedom, something inside Chantal had finally snapped. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She hadn’t wanted to be the strong one anymore. She’d wanted someone to take care of
her
for a change. Above all, she’d wanted to be loved.
So she’d turned to Mitch. She’d laid her heart bare. When he hadn’t wanted it, she’d bared her body, too.
The memory of that night still stung, even after their oh-so-adult conversation this morning and all the rationalizing she’d done since then.
Regardless of the pain, it was probably a good thing that the memories were being purged. She’d carried them around for almost half her life, along with her resentment. That couldn’t have been healthy. It was high time to let them go, wasn’t it? Let them heal. She and Mitch were different people now. That’s what she’d told him yesterday morning on the dock.
God, had it only been yesterday? It felt as if she’d lived another lifetime in one day. She wiped the rain from her face, then used her hand to shield her eyes from the downpour.
Someone was coming up the path from the lodge. A green, hooded rain poncho covered the figure from his head to his knees. It looked like one of the Aerie’s ponchos. They had a supply of foul-weather gear for guests who got caught without their own. Tommy and Rhonda had been making use of them during the rainy weather last month. The figure was Tommy’s height, and he moved with the springy step that was characteristic of the young student. Was it possible that he had slipped away?
For a moment, wild hope superseded logic and Chantal opened her mouth to call to him. But then a gust of wind flattened the poncho across his chest. She saw the outline of a gun that was held beneath the rubberized vinyl.
She fumbled inside her jacket for the flashlight, pointed it directly at the windshield of the helicopter and switched it on. She counted two seconds, turned it off for two seconds, then repeated the sequence twice more.
The rain was coming down like a curtain. What if Mitch couldn’t see her signal? She tried again, all the while making sure to keep the tree trunk between her and the approaching man. He was almost beside her now. He was making no effort to walk silently. She could hear his scuffing footsteps over the sound of the wind.
She clicked off the light and lowered it to her side. Her elbow caught the strap of the gun that hung from her shoulder. It started to slide. She grabbed it fast to keep it from falling to the ground. The metal clip that held the strap to the stock clinked.
Damn! She hadn’t wanted to keep this gun. She had good reasons to hate guns. It was completely useless to her. But Mitch had insisted. He hadn’t wanted to leave her defenseless. She’d had to go along with him because otherwise, he wouldn’t have agreed to her acting as his lookout in the first place.
The man in the poncho paused, as if he’d heard the noise. He gave a cursory glance around the area, then started forward once more. He was heading straight for the helicopter.
Chantal thought she saw movement inside the cockpit. She got as close to the edge of the trees as she dared and used her light again, hoping against hope that Mitch could see the warning. He might not be able to see the man. The green poncho would blend into the pines.
The man in the poncho must have seen the movement in the cockpit, too. He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Hey, Molitor!” he yelled. “That you?”
The spot where the helicopter rested was the highest point on the rock hilltop. Because of that, Chantal could see beneath it from where she stood. Between the bottom of the fuselage and the landing struts, she watched as Mitch jumped to the ground.
“Since you’re out there, you finish this circuit!” the man shouted. He stopped and did a sudden about-face. “I didn’t sign on for this scut work,” he muttered. His eyes widened. “Hey! Who the hell are you?”
He’d turned so quickly, she hadn’t had a chance to douse her light. He was staring right at her. He wasn’t wearing a ski mask, so she had a clear view of his face. He appeared as shocked as she was, but it didn’t last. He flipped back his poncho and swung his gun in her direction.
Chantal acted without thinking. She hurled her flashlight at him. The cylinder spun through the rain in a blur of chrome and glass. It struck him squarely on his nose.
He slapped one hand to his face as he staggered back a step. Blood oozed between his fingers. “You bitch!” He returned his hand to his gun. More blood spurted from a horizontal gash on his nose. “You’re gonna pay for that! Drop your gun!”
Again, instinct took over. She couldn’t let herself be captured. Her friends needed her. So did Mitch. Instead of surrendering, she grasped her gun by the barrel, stepped forward and swung it at his head.
The move caught him off-guard. He ducked, but he didn’t avoid the blow entirely. The gun stock struck him on the shoulder. She could feel the reverberations all the way up her arms. She was pulling back for another swing when a dark form blurred her peripheral vision.
Mitch seemed to come out of nowhere. He moved behind the man, hooked one elbow around his throat and used his other hand to squeeze the angle of his arm tighter. The man struggled for only a few seconds, then went completely limp. Mitch released his sleeper hold and snatched the man’s gun as he collapsed to the ground. He gave him a tap with the butt end to ensure he wasn’t faking, then looked at Chantal. “Damn, I’m glad you’re on my side.”
She could barely breathe. Forming a coherent response was beyond her. Once again, the speed of Mitch’s actions had shaken her. Yet it was her own actions that had shaken her the most.
“Are you okay?”
She shoved her wet hair out of her face and nodded.
“You were incredible.”
She didn’t feel incredible, she felt sick. She stared at the man who was stretched out on the ground. The poncho hood had fallen back. Rain beat on his closed eyelids and gaunt features. It mixed with the blood to form pink rivulets on the sides of his nose. The end of a ponytail lay along his neck. He looked lifeless, totally flaccid. She thought he was dead until she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest.
“Chantal?”
She returned her gaze to Mitch.
He stood tall and solid, in spite of the wind and pounding rain. His black jacket was gleaming wet, his hair plastered flat to his head. His expression was as hard and forbidding as the rock they were standing on. Yet his mere presence reached through her budding hysteria like a warm hug. It steadied her pulse. It brought her back to herself.
Her lungs finally started to work again. “I couldn’t pull the trigger,” she said.
“Just as well. Even with this rain, someone might have heard the shot.”
“I was signaling you. I tried to warn you.”
“You did great. I got your message.”
“The message,” she said quickly. “Did you send one? Did you contact anyone?”
“I reached someone in Bethel Corners.”
“Sheriff Prentice?”
“No, a deputy named Hennessey.”
“I know Al Hennessey. He’s a good man.”
“I’m not sure he believed me.”
She glanced at the downed guard again. “I’m sorry you didn’t have more time. He turned so fast, I didn’t have a chance to hide.”
“Don’t worry about it. Even if he hadn’t seen you, he would have raised the alarm when he got back and found out it wasn’t his buddy he’d seen at the chopper.” He cupped her shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. “We can’t linger here, Chantal. We need to move.”
Her stomach started to roll as she thought of the danger they were still in and of what might have happened if she hadn’t acted. She tried to concentrate on the moment the way Mitch was. She looked around for the flashlight she’d thrown, then went to pick it up. “I broke the bulb.”
“It doesn’t matter if it works or not. We can’t leave any traces or they’ll know someone else has been here.”
She pointed at the motionless form on the ground. “What about him?”
“We can’t leave him, either,” Mitch said. “He could come in useful.” He engaged the safety on the man’s gun and held it out to her. “I’ll need you to carry this, if it’s not too heavy for you.”
It wasn’t the weight that bothered her, but this was no time to indulge herself in a belated bout of squeamishness. She lifted aside her wet hair and looped the strap over one shoulder, then did the same on the other shoulder with her own weapon.
Meanwhile, Mitch retrieved his cane, grabbed the unconscious man’s arm and in one smooth motion hoisted him across the back of his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
“What are we going to do with him?” Chantal asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said, starting across the hill. “But we’ve made a good team so far. We’re bound to think of something.”
Lewis glanced at his watch, walked to the office door and peered down the hall. “Where the hell is Bamford?”
Taddeo was leaning against the wall and using his knife to pick at something under one of his fingernails. “Last I saw him, he was going outside.”
“When?”
“Must have been an hour ago. He was bitchin’ like crazy about having to do Benny’s shift.”
“He’s not responding to his walkie-talkie.”
“I bet he’s off having a smoke someplace out of the rain.”
Lewis agreed. The men’s attitude toward discipline was sorely lacking. He had to remind himself they had other valuable attributes, starting with their viciousness.
“You want me to go look for him?” Taddeo asked.
Lewis considered the offer for only a moment. It wasn’t like any of these men to volunteer for extra duties. Taddeo must be hoping for a chance to take a break himself. With Brown still out of commission, sending an extra man to chase down the AWOL Bamford would leave them even more shorthanded.
He dismissed the suggestion with a flick of his hand. The computer link with the Petherick head office was up and working. Bamford was no longer essential to the plan, so they could do without him for now. Lewis would deal with him when he showed up. “Bring me Petherick and Whitby,” he ordered.