Then Jack released her. He stepped back, their personal space still twined, their auras mixed, their heat comingled. Morgan felt the connection between them, as strong as iron chains, bonding them together as invisible as a breeze. His eyes were hot on her, so hot that had she not already been contained inside a form of skin, she would have flowed across the floor like the puddles of water about them.
Emotion didn't cross his face, but his eyes changed from loving and wanting to questioning, confusing, and finally regretting. Then the shutters closed over his face as surely as if he'd donned a mask. Morgan felt a coldness pass between them as if she stood in the path of a cold, frigid wind. Then Jack turned and walked away.
The gym bag on her shoulder dropped to the wet floor. Droplets of water rained upward, splashing against her legs and soaking into her stockings. A moment later her knees lost their power to keep her upright. She sank to the floor, oblivious of her tights, unconcerned about the bones in her knees, uncaring of the potential for hazardous injury to future competitions. All she understood was that something special, unique and wonderful had been offered to her, but like everything else in her life, it had been jerked away before she could touch it.
***
The sound of a mixer jolted Morgan back to the kitchen. She whipped around looking for the source of the noise. Her gaze darted from one appliance to another, but there was no mixer. Nothing moved. The counter was nearly free of all electronic devices used to make work in the kitchen a marvel of efficiency and time-saving convenience. Yet the sound continued. A wisp of movement caught Morgan's eye.
She turned toward it, forgetting the pool scene which had played out so many years ago, to find the subject of her thoughts leaning against the doorjamb. It had been twelve years, twelve years of nights since she'd seen him. Long, restless, unfulfilled nights, when she could capture an image as fleeting as stardust.
Now there he stood—solid, comfortable, commanding and sexy as a soft night with a moon on the rise. Then the fog surrounding her brain lifted. It wasn't a mixer she heard. It was the sound of giant rotors beating the air.
A helicopter!
They'd been found. But how?
Jack came through the door.
She glanced over her shoulder. The window suddenly made her feel exposed, vulnerable. "Who did you call?" she demanded.
"It's all right. They're here to rescue us."
Jack headed toward the back door.
Morgan grabbed his arm, stopping him. She listened to the sound. He'd think she was crazy if she told him she could hear the type of helicopter it was. She'd spent a lot of time listening, training. Every morning and each evening the traffic control helicopters flew over the major arteries leading to downtown St. Louis. She also knew the sound of commercial helicopters. She'd once dated a helicopter pilot and he'd taught her how to tell the difference. He wanted her to be able to distinguish his approach from the traffic control system. Morgan admitted she wanted to learn. Anything that might help save her life in some future time, she took advantage of. This might just be the time.
She gestured toward the window. The sound was high. "Who did you call?'' she asked again.
"Jacob Winston."
Jack pulled himself free and headed again for the door. She listened intently. Morgan didn't know a military helicopter. She could only tell that this one sounded heavy. Its beat through the air had a slower rhythm than the commercial ones. She didn't know what that meant, but instinctively she understood there was danger present.
She turned as Jack reached the door. Through the windows she saw the helicopter. Its dark hulk lined up with the huge wall that provided beauty and light, but no protection. In a second she was after Jack.
"Jack, no!" She lunged across the room, slamming into Jack as bullets shattered the window. Glass spewed across the kitchen with hurricane force. She and Jack crashed into the wall of the small enclosure and sank to the floor. Their arms caught together as they crammed into the tiny space, each one trying to protect the other.
"Got any ideas how we get out of this?" he whispered in an ironic form of humor as the bullets stopped shattering everything around them.
"No," she said flatly. Her hands moved quickly over him, frisking him in their awkward position on the floor. She found what she appeared to be looking for. Reaching inside his pocket she pulled the cell phone out and smashed it against the wall next to Jack's head. He reached past her trying to halt her attack on the device, but in his position he was no match for her determination. The phone fell in pieces which Morgan picked up and pulverized until the electronic enemy could no longer hurt her.
"That was our only link with help."
"Well it wasn't working properly if this is the help it summoned."
"Follow me and stay down." He crouched into a crawling position and led her up the back stairs. Thank goodness Michelle's "cabin" was no cabin. Bullets plummeted the house. They ran through the upstairs toward the front of the house. Abruptly Jack stopped and looked at the ceiling. Morgan followed his gaze.
"It's moving," she said, tracing the path of the helicopter above their heads.
He didn't speak, but pulled her faster behind him. They ran down the front stairs and to the cellar door. Jack went into the darkness. Morgan wondered what he was doing, but she didn't take time to ask. She followed him. As if he'd been here before, he went straight to a panel and flipped several switches. Then they started back to the cellar stairs. The sound of bullets became louder the closer they got to the top. Jack stopped before barreling through the door.
"We've got to get outside," he whispered. Morgan thought he talked more to himself than to her.
"The helicopter is out there."
"I know," he answered. "We better hope there is only one of them."
"What are we going to do?"
"Bring it down."
***
The idea had come to him in a flash and he wasn't at all sure it would work, but he'd been in tight situations before and knew he had to work with whatever tools presented themselves. In this case the tool was water.
"I want you to stay here."
"No!"
"I don't have time to argue with you."
"Then don't. I'm not staying here. You might need me."
"You don't even know what I'm going to do."
"I don't care. Whatever it is you could only have thought of it in the last two minutes, so it can't be that well thought out. I'm not staying here, so stop wasting time."
"I knew you'd be trouble the moment I saw you," he muttered. "Stick close and keep your head down."
At the side door Jack listened until they knew the helicopter was at the back of the house. Cautiously he looked out. Grabbing her hand he quickly pulled her through the door and to the fire hose he'd discovered earlier.
He pulled hose from the circular frame that held it neatly out of the way. He touched the water pipe and could feel the pressure there.
"Unroll this," he told her, indicating the tan-colored hosing. "Keep doing it until it's all off the frame. At my signal turn on the water." Again he touched the knob which when opened would force water through the tubing.
Jack took the end of the hose and started toward the back of the house. He stopped at the edge and looked for the helicopter. The range of the hose was designed for the height of the house. Jack glanced at the roof above him to gauge the distance. The helicopter had been low enough to spray the kitchen with bullets. He only hoped when it came back around, it was low enough for the water to impact it.
He listened as the sound grew louder, coming toward him. The direction was right. His heart pounded. He was only going to get one chance. Looking back, he saw Morgan. She had nearly unrolled all the hose. He thought of her standing on her beam so many years ago. He'd put her in danger that day and he'd done it again today. She only had him, even if she didn't realize it yet.
Turning his attention to the task, he spotted the helicopter the moment it swung around the
house. Like a giant bug the cabin came into view, its windows smoky gray to prevent glare. Jack knew he would be in plain view, and the guns mounted on the sides of the aircraft would have a perfect target in his jean-clad body.
Jack readied the hose. He lifted his hand and held it in the air. The helicopter flew slowly, its rotors whipping the air, sucking the air upward, creating clouds of dust. Jack thanked the dust for the camouflage it afforded him. He was banking on human nature. It was natural to jump, react in some way, to the sudden splash of a blinding wall of rainwater heaved up by one car and hitting the windshield of another. This was his intention. He had surprise on his side. He hoped he also had perfect aim.
Quickly he dropped his hand, then grabbed the hose in a photographer's stance. Water started through the spiral of hose Morgan had unleashed. He felt it blow through the fabric hose as it swelled and hardened the hose about his feet and legs. A second later it gushed through the spout like a thrusting geyser. Pointing the hose at the juncture just under the beaters, Jack aimed the extension. The helicopter swayed to the side as the g-force connected with its mark. Jack took a step forward, spraying water over the windshield. Then he found the opening in the side and water gushed into the cabin, surprising the pilot. The man fought the flow, letting go of the stick in an attempt to plug the hole and move away from the impact. The helicopter became a huge, uncontrolled, metal weight with no method of remaining airborne. The big-nosed craft pointed downward. The tail rotor spun the machine around backward.
Jack worked with it, keeping the water flowing, moving as the craft moved to keep the water going inside and disorienting the pilot. Since the craft was low to the ground when it came around the house, it had little recovery distance or time for the pilot to grab the stick and pull the helicopter out of danger. It struck the ground in a labyrinth of snarling metal and shattering glass.
Morgan turned the water off at Jack's command and came running in his direction. Jack held onto the hose in case he had to use it. The pilot lay forward in his seat, restrained only by the shoulder harness required of all pilots in flight. Morgan stopped at Jack's arm. Her hand found his instinctively. He dropped the hose and squeezed her fingers, barely conscious of the action. They both looked at the mass of white metal stained with green grass and dirt, its rotor blades pitched into the ground like huge steel knives. The engine hissed and ticked. A white smoke came from a closed panel near the top.
"Is he dead?" she asked.
Jack didn't answer. He started forward. Morgan followed, still holding his hand.
He stopped at the entrance to the craft. The door had been ripped from its mooring and lay several feet from the mangled mess. Blood drained from the head of the helicopter's only occupant. Jack didn't think he was dead. He took a step forward.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm going to get him out of there."
"Do you think that's a good idea? It might explode."
"If it didn't do it on impact, it's not likely to happen now."
He dropped Morgan's hand and went toward the man in the seat. "If there's anything in the house you want, get it now and go to the car."
"Why?"
"He isn't alone." Jack indicated the unconscious man. "The minute he doesn't answer the radio signal with his source, there will be others."
Morgan took a step back. She hugged herself and looked around as if afraid she'd find someone behind her.
"Go!" he shouted. "Meet me at the car in one minute. Not a second longer."
CHAPTER 4
Jack hated this job. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when he'd become dissatisfied with what he did. Maybe he had always been dissatisfied. The world sat on the brink of destruction and often he was the linchpin holding the two sides together. He knew it would always be that way. That there were younger men, more idealistic, men who hadn't been beaten by their lifestyle, ready to take his place. He wanted out and he was going to get it. It should have been easy. He should be sitting in his house in Montana with his feet up, smelling the crisp air and enjoying the mountains that were both majestic and imposing, where the likelihood of terrorists coming across them was small. That hadn't happened. The decision had been taken from him when he'd gone to Jacob's office for a leisurely lunch and ended up here, on this road in broad daylight, heading east with no apparent destination in mind, but with unknown assailants behind them and not a clue as to why.
He wished he hadn't come here, that he hadn't had the misfortune to be in Jacob's office when the message appeared on his screen. Jacob hadn't shared it with him. His friend had only canceled lunch. Urgent business was the excuse, but the look he'd thrown at Jack said the message somehow concerned him. Intuitively he knew that. Curiously, he rushed to see the screen. Jacob cleared it, but not before the name Morgan Kirkwood jumped off the monitor like a bridge to his past.
Jack was planning to resign. It was his reason for being in Washington. He'd told Jacob first. Jacob was his friend, the closest thing to a friend he had or dared have in his line of work. Jack planned to formally present his resignation after lunch, but that hadn't happened. Abruptly he changed his mind when he realized Morgan was involved. Badgering Jacob was useless. The only thing he learned was that the former Olympic champion lived in Missouri and that she had never, in the past twelve years, left a message for anyone in the bureau.
Something had to be wrong. Jack knew it on more than one level. First, that Morgan had called for help and second that Jacob immediately reacted to her name after a twelve-year silence. Something had to be seriously wrong. Jack felt responsible. Morgan Kirkwood had begun to turn her life around. She was on her way to being a normal working American. Then he'd come into her life, without her knowledge, and changed all that. It was his fault. She would never have been in this situation, whatever it was, if he hadn't given his plan to the powers that be. But he had. And he couldn't undo it.
So he'd volunteered to check out the situation and get back to Jacob if there was the tiniest bit of trouble. What he'd seen couldn't be considered tiny: one murder, an explosion, a daring escape, a drive through the night to a hidden house in the woods and a helicopter fight with a fire hose. Jack didn't know what had sparked any of this, but he was going to find out, and he was going to find out now.
He swung the car into a rest stop and cruised into the farthest parking space. It was afternoon, but only a few cars were parked in the spaces. No one was around them. He got out of the car and went around to Morgan's side. He opened the door and pulled her out of the seat.
"We need to talk," he said by way of explanation.
Instead of going toward the building, he headed for the wooded area in the back. Several empty picnic tables dotted the landscape. He dropped her hand when they were well away from the parking area and the small building where weary travelers stopped to use restrooms, check maps and load up on junk food before returning to their cars, vans and trucks and heading again for distant destinations.
Morgan looked tired and scared, and although she fought hard not to let it show, Jack could see it. He gritted his teeth and forced himself not to turn away. He didn't want to see her looking like this. If he let his emotions get in the way he'd put off asking his questions. "I want to know what is going on," he started.
"I don't know."
"Someone is trying to kill you and you have no clue why?'' There was more anger in his voice than he intended.
"I think I said that."
"Why did you contact Jacob?"
"Just how do you know Jacob?" she countered. Jack was wondering when she was going to put the fact that he knew the director of the witness protection program together with his presence.
"My acquaintance with him is not the question. What is the reason you called him?"
She folded her arms under her breasts and closed her mouth. Jack looked at her. He needed to change his tactics. Threatening her wasn't what he had in mind. He needed to make her talk. Even if she didn't want to. There wa
s one way he had of making her talk. He'd discovered it in Korea when she came off that gym floor after her final competitive rotation. He took a step closer to her. Immediately her arms went to her sides, her hands curled into fists. She stepped back, but Jack saw her body harden. Every line of her being went on the attack.
***
Morgan knew the look in his eyes when he'd stepped forward. She'd seen it only once before, but it was unmistakable. Jack was going to kiss her. She turned around. "I'm going to the car," she threw at him as she started to leave. He caught her arm and spun her around.
"Not yet. I want to know what's going on."
"Give me one good reason why I should tell you anything?'' She snatched her arm free.
"Because I just saved your pretty little ass—"
"Which wouldn't have been in danger if you hadn't called Washington," she interrupted.
Jack took a deep breath and let it out. "You're right."
She blinked at his words. She hadn't expected him to agree with her. Her stare had to be evidence of that, but she was right. Although she couldn't believe Jacob Winston had anything to do with their situation, someone else did. For a moment she thought it might be Jack, but he'd saved her more than once.
"I came here to check out the situation."
"Well, so far you're not doing a very good job."
Jack grabbed Morgan's upper arms and pushed her against the trunk of a tree. The rough surface dug into her back. The action surprised her but she revealed little to let him know.
"Stop it!" he shouted, his face only a couple of inches from hers. I'm sick and tired of you complaining about everything. I know you're scared. Fear is natural and I won't think less of you if you show it, but stop this clawing at me. We're in this together."
More Than Gold (Capitol Chronicles Book 3) Page 6
