Under The Midnight Sun

by Marilyn Cunningham

  His heart twisted with a tenderness so fierce it was almost painful. He would do anything to keep her safe. She was tired and vulnerable, not yet recovered from her loss of sleep and days without food. And, he thought, with a pang of guilt, he had made love to her, further using up her reserves. It was just as well she had a night to rest before they went home.

  He also wished he knew where Bettnor was. But nothing was going to happen to her tonight—even if he had to spend all of it sitting by the door with a gun. Although he’d rather spend the night in her arms. How long had he known he loved her? Should he tell her now, or wait until they returned to Anchorage when they were both back in their familiar milieu and it made more sense to make plans for the future? He’d wait, he decided. He wanted just the right time and place.

  “Why don’t you take a shower?” he said softly. “You’ll feel better. Then we’ll hunt up some food.”

  “Sounds like a great idea.” She yawned and stumbled toward the bathroom.

  Brian lay back against the pillow, hands clasped behind his head, and listened to the rush of the shower, imagining its warmth cascading down her slender body. Why didn’t he just slip off his clothes and join her?

  But they were still in danger, sitting ducks if Bettnor or anyone else returned. He couldn’t let his guard down. And lovemaking with Malinche was, to say the least, distracting.

  Wrapped in a skimpy hotel towel, she emerged from the shower drowsy and warm and scurried into bed. He needn’t have wondered whether to approach her. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

  “So much for food,” he murmured, tucking the blanket up under her chin. For several moments he gazed down at her, his heart pounding, noticing the sweep of black lashes against her ivory cheek, the softness of her half-parted lips. How much could a man take?

  Sighing, he took his revolver from his pack and positioned a chair to face the door. It was going to be a long night.

  MALINCHE GLANCED covertly at Brian’s face as he dropped altitude and skimmed over the bowl that held the city of Anchorage. After the barren landscape they had just left, the city appeared lush and welcoming. Friendly. Not at all like Brian, who seemed distracted by thoughts of his own.

  He eased the plane down onto the surface of the small lake. It seemed a lifetime had elapsed since they had lifted into the sky on their adventure. She had been hopeful then. Now she had a hard time fighting off misery—and anger. Was Brian going to ignore everything that had happened between them?

  They had awakened that morning to a clear sky and gone immediately to the airport. Brian appeared tired, but her long sleep had rejuvenated her. She had hoped they might make love, but wasn’t assertive enough to suggest it. As for Brian, his mind seemed on something else.

  She was right back where she started, she thought, both figuratively and literally. What had she gained by this trip? She had learned more about Dimitri, enough to sharpen the constant pain that came because she had never known her own brother. But she was just as far from finding out who had killed him. Even the dragon talisman was gone, and if it had harbored an elusive clue, it was lost, too. Yet something about it—about the carving of the head—nagged at her.

  And how could she have thought an envelope, with only a return address, could tell her anything helpful? In retrospect, it seemed ridiculous to think she could trace it and find out what its contents had been. And an innocent man was dead, just because he had tried to help them.

  As for Brian, she was no closer to discovering his true feelings, either. She had more pride than to force herself on a man who wanted no commitment.

  He was an attractive man. A sexy man. A man who’d shown her passion she’d never believed possible. An admirable, courageous man. Perhaps she believed she loved him because they had faced so much danger together. He was her protector, her chance for survival.

  Now she could think more clearly. This virile, wonderful man had a flaw. He was too wary to ever give his heart to any woman. And she wasn’t a masochist. She knew she could love—he had taught her how much she had to give—but he had also taught her he could never reciprocate.

  What should she do now? The trail to her brother’s killer had run out. Whoever had been chasing them must know that, too, and he wouldn’t pursue. She suspected that now they were in Anchorage she would see little of Brian.

  But her reason for coming to Alaska still remained. The last few days had confirmed her need to find her own identity, but she was less sure of herself than she had ever been. She had felt a strong affinity for Netta, Ganook, for their way of life, but she knew it could never be hers. Yet life with her father in his rarefied world of power and high finance seemed just as remote. Where was her place?

  The plane taxied up to the pier and Malinche jumped out to secure the rope to the piling. As Brian tossed the bags down, she glanced a little fearfully toward the shore. They hadn’t notified anyone when they left Kotzebue, but it would be a simple matter for someone to check their takeoff time.

  Pasco or Wilson or both might be waiting for them. Keeping track of them.

  But no familiar figures stood at the beginning of the pier. She didn’t see a thing except a huge black limousine parked in the lot…

  Her pulse skipped a beat. She stood transfixed, as the vehicle door opened and a tall, bulky man stepped out onto the tarmac.

  She raced toward the distant figure, arms outstretched.

  “Daddy!”

  Buck Adams enfolded his daughter in his powerful arms.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brian secured the rope to the piling, and followed Malinche up the pier. He didn’t hurry. Malinche’s glad cry of “Daddy!” made him certain that the man who held her in a warm hug was the legendary Buck Adams. He would have guessed it anyway. Even at his advanced age, everything about the man—his confident bearing, his clothing—cried power and money, both things which Brian regarded warily.

  As he traversed the short distance, Brian took his time in assessing the man. He’d read about him and seen photos, but they didn’t convey the sense of raw power that seeing Adams in person did. Buck Adams was big—big all over. The suit, obviously tailor-made, was of the finest silk. His coarse black hair showed wide streaks of gray. Thick-jawed, barrel-chested, thighs like trees, he had planted himself on the deck, and his manner said only a foolhardy man would try to displace him.

  Buck shifted his attention from Malinche to look Brian directly in the eyes. The man was elderly, but he was formidable in every respect, not just in appearance. Deep, penetrating, intelligent, his eyes gazed out of a wrinkled face, seeming to see everything at once.

  Brian remembered what he had heard of the man: Buck Adams had knocked about all over the world before, having made and lost a couple of fortunes, he had struck gold in Alaska. That was only the start of the fortune he had amassed. Smart, energetic, ruthless, he had parlayed that strike into one of America’s biggest financial empires.

  And this was Malinche’s father, the man she could turn to anytime she wished. It was a sobering thought.

  Malinche turned from her father’s embrace. “Dad, this is Brian Kennedy. He’s—he’s been a big help to me.”

  Buck smiled, a smile that had sparked terror in many a man, and grasped Brian’s hand. Brian gripped it firmly, Buck’s grip grew firmer, Brian squeezed tighter—and then relaxed. He couldn’t believe he was involved in the old masculine ritual of dominance.

  Besides, he couldn’t blame Buck for his wariness. Not only was his daughter beautiful, she was excessively rich, and that would be an unbeatable combination for many men. For Brian, it didn’t work that way. He wanted his wife to live in his world, and why would anyone give up the world Buck could provide for what he could offer? He had decided that when they reached Anchorage he would tell Malinche he loved her, see if they could work out a future. That seemed naive now. He had only to remember the joy in her voice when she called out to her father to realize how hopeless his dream was.


  “Glad to meet you,” Buck said. “I hear you and my little darling have been having quite an adventure.”

  Little Darling! “Where did you hear that?” Obviously Buck, although unseen, had been keeping close track of his daughter.

  “We’ll talk later,” Buck said, glancing at Malinche. “Let’s get back to the apartment, little girl, and talk about what you’ve been up to.” The harshness vanished from his eyes, replaced by tenderness. He had one vulnerable spot, Brian saw.

  A man unaccustomed to arguments about his decisions, he was already leading the way to the limousine.

  Malinche, clutching his hand, laughed up into her father’s face. She had nothing to fear now, Brian thought sourly, now that “Daddy” was here to fix everything.

  “A limousine, Dad?” she teased. “And a suit? Don’t you know you’re out of style up here?”

  “Style?” he growled. “I didn’t give it much thought. When I got the word, I came up in a hurry.”

  “What word? And how did you know where and when we were going to land?”

  Buck shook his head impatiently. “I didn’t know exactly when you’d be here—I’ve been waiting for hours. As to where you’d land—I was told where Kennedy here kept his plane. Now, let’s get back to your apartment so you can rest up a bit.”

  “Dad, I’ve done nothing but rest for the past few hours.”

  “A little more won’t hurt you.” He nodded curtly to Brian. “You, too.” He ushered Malinche into the back seat and climbed in beside her.

  Brian bristled at the man’s tone, but he decided to ignore it. Adams was used to commanding; he probably didn’t give his brusque manner a thought, and there was no reason to make an issue of it. That didn’t mean he would meekly obey.

  “Sorry. I’ve got my Jeep parked here. I’ll drive it.”

  “I’ll send someone for it. Get in.”

  Brian shrugged. Other than fight over a minor matter, there seemed nothing else to do. Besides, he wanted to be near Malinche; there were matters that must be decided between them. Although Buck’s presence put things in a different light. He had been nearly sure she loved him, but with Buck here, he wondered if he should wait awhile before he said anything ..

  The limo swung out onto the highway and headed toward Anchorage. Brian paid little attention to the conversation between Malinche and her father. It was mainly gossip about famous and wealthy people that Brian didn’t know—and didn’t want to know.

  As they swung into Muldoon Street, Brian turned to them. “I have to go my place first. You can drop me off.”

  “Drop you off? You’re coming with us, Kennedy.”

  Brian’s jaw set, and he glanced at the formidable Buck Adams. The other man’s eyes drilled into his.

  “I don’t take orders, Mr. Adams,” Brian said quietly. He’d had as much of this treatment as he planned on taking. “I don’t work for you.”

  Buck appeared genuinely surprised. Then he grinned. “No, you don’t work for me, do you? As a father, though, I want to talk to you. Will you please come along with us?”

  Brian nodded, feeling rather ridiculous. This was nothing to make an issue of. He was reacting as he usually did to authority—rebelliously. Malinche had rebelled against Buck’s authority, too. But how much had she really rebelled, and how soon would she revert to being “Daddy’s Little Darling”?

  A few moments later Malinche flung open the door to her apartment and scrutinized it closely before stepping inside. Everything looked just as she had left it: the elegant sofa positioned on the plush carpet, the richly upholstered chair across from it, the highly polished coffee table with a magazine still open on it. If anyone had been there while she was gone they had left no sign.

  Brian followed closely with her luggage. “Where do you want these?”

  “Just put them on the floor,” Buck said, gravitating to the most comfortable chair in the room. It appeared fragile under his weight. “Sit down. We’ve got things to talk about.”

  Malinche glanced at Brian’s mutinous expression, and smiled inwardly as he sat on the couch beside her. She’d had years to become used to Buck’s autocratic manner, and it still rankled her sometimes. Certainly it was annoying Brian. In some ways the two were alike—stubborn, determined—and dependable. She suspected she had been upset by Brian’s manner at first because it was so much like Buck’s which she was trying to evade. Now that Buck was here her earlier rebellion seemed childish.

  Buck glared at them for a few seconds. “Now, you two, just what in hell has been going on around here? I was called by a real concerned guy—he said I better get up here fast.”

  “Who?” Malinche demanded. “Who called you?”

  “Never mind who. I gathered you two were stirring up a hornet’s nest and everybody would be a lot better off if you came on home with me, girl. So—talk.”

  Malinche and Brian exchanged glances. Brian wasn’t saying anything. It was up to Malinche.

  For the next hour, Buck sat still, interrupting only to clear up a point, while Malinche told him what had happened from the time Dimitri had called her on the phone and left his message. When she had finished, Buck gave a huge sigh. If she hadn’t known better, Malinche might have thought his eyes misted with tears. He seemed lost in memories. Pain flashed in his eyes.

  “Dimitri, my son. I always thought he was dead. If I had known…”

  The fleeting expression was gone. He hadn’t known, and Buck was a pragmatist. He wouldn’t cry over something he couldn’t change. Shrugging off whatever he felt, he turned to Malinche. “Well, I see they didn’t exaggerate. Pack your things, girl. My jet is at the airport. We’ll get out of here right now.”

  “No.”

  “No?” He leaned forward and pounded his hammy fist on his silk-clad knee. “Don’t talk to your dad like that. Good God, don’t you realize the danger you’re in? It was a silly idea, your coming up here to ‘find your roots.’ And now you’re mixed up in something truly dangerous. I don’t know where your roots are, but your life is with me, where I can protect you—”

  “Dad, Dimitri was your son! My brother! You must have loved him. He deserves—”

  “He’s dead, and nothing will change that. And you’re alive, although you were almost killed. Pack your things.”

  “I’m not going back with you, Dad. I can’t quit while I’m in the middle of something—”

  “You haven’t the slightest idea what you’re in the middle of. And neither do I.”

  “I don’t mean just finding out who murdered Dimitri. Maybe I can’t do that, as much as I try, but I can’t quit. Don’t you see? I have to be on my own for a while, find out who I am without you paving the way for me.”

  “The old ‘lost identity’ thing! I didn’t buy it before, and I don’t now. You’re my daughter—”

  “I’m my mother’s daughter, too.”

  “Yes.” His eyes softened. “I see that more and more. She was old to have a baby when she had you, but she insisted. She rarely listened to reason, either. If she had lived—” He shrugged away the memory and returned to the attack.

  Brian listened silently, hoping Malinche would not give in. It would be best for everyone if she did; her stubbornness now would only postpone her eventual compliance. And Buck wouldn’t give up the war just because he might lose a battle or two. It was merely a matter of time.

  “All right,” Buck finally said, “so, you’re not coming home. But I can’t leave you here with things unresolved and somebody out to kill you. Can I do anything to help?”

  It was possible he could. Brian thought of the blank walls they encountered every time they approached the authorities. Buck had power and influence. He elected senators, made and destroyed companies and careers, was a mover and shaker. Perhaps he could do what Brian and Malinche couldn’t—get some answers.

  “If we could find out what was in that letter from the army, we might not be at a complete dead end. Why was the Department of the Army interested in
Dimitri?” Brian said. “Can you find out?”

  Buck thought a minute. “I could make a call or two,” he finally said.

  “The phone is—”

  “Not from here. The phone is probably bugged. Since it seems I’ll be here awhile, I’ll check into a hotel and call from there. I’ll be back.”

  Brian listened to the limo pull away, and cursed himself for not thinking of the possibility of phones being bugged. Malinche had also looked surprised. Now she slid back in her chair and closed her eyes. Brian understood her reaction. When Buck left, he seemed to suck the energy from the room. Brian wanted to go to her, smooth the frown from her face, tell her he loved her and would take care of her. It seemed ridiculous. Buck had changed everything. Not the love, of course, but Brian’s hope that it would work out between them. She didn’t need him to protect her—she had Buck.

  “Who do you think put a burr under his collar and sent him rushing up to rescue you?” he asked.

  She smiled wanly. “That’s hard to say. Dad has his fingers in a lot of pies. He has a spy system to rival the CIA.”

  “You stood up to him.” What would happen if he went over and took her in his arms? Could he possibly be part of the reason she had insisted on staying? She was one hell of a woman, stronger than he ever would have suspected. But not strong enough to resist to the end, he thought, staying where he was.

  He mustn’t give in to his dreams. She had stood up to Buck this time, but she said herself she had an inner conflict as to where she belonged. In the end her background would win out, and she would return to her life of privilege. Any woman would. And what could he offer her beside what Buck offered?

  He paced the floor until Buck returned, trying to control his emotions, aware that she watched him from under partly closed eyelids.

  “Well,” the man said, plopping down in the chair and running a silk handkerchief across his forehead, “you two have gotten yourselves into more trouble than I expected.”