Morgan's Son

by Lindsay McKenna

  Craig yanked the steering wheel to the right. Fortunately, traffic was light, and he took the car onto the sidewalk, where it groaned and clunked, one set of wheels higher than the other. Glass shattered around them. The other car was firing at them!

  “Get down!” Craig roared, wrenching the wheel to the left. The light had just turned red, but if he braked, they were dead. He heard the ping-ping-ping of submachine-gun bullets stitching along the side of the car. More glass shattered inward. Hunching over, he jammed his foot down on the accelerator, and the car leapt through the light. The speedometer needle rose rapidly to fifty, sixty, seventy miles an hour. He wove between the few cars, jerking a look into the rearview mirror. Were they following? He had to assume they were.

  Luckily, it was night, which made them harder to tail—unless a bug had been attached to their car so they could follow it by remote control. His head spun with options. He risked a quick look at Sabra. She had bent down, her hands covering her head.

  “Sabra?”

  “I—I’m okay. You?”

  Craig said raggedly, “I’m okay.”

  She sat up and twisted to look out the shattered rear window. Her breath was coming in ragged gulps. Bits of glass tumbled out of her hair and down her front as she turned back to face the road. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. She looked over at Craig. His profile was hard and set, and sweat stood out on his face, gleaming in the oncoming headlights.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “They’re on to us. Whoever they are,” he rasped. Slamming on the brakes, he turned the car down a darkened side street to the right. Flicking off the headlights, he guided it down the rutted, dirt road in near blackness. Houses flashed by on either side of them. Ahead, he spotted another small road, and steered the car onto it.

  “See anything?” he demanded.

  “No,” Sabra said, watching out the rear window. “Nothing.”

  “We’ve got to ditch this car.”

  “Yes.”

  Savagely, he jerked the steering wheel, aiming the vehicle down another meandering lane with very few homes along it. Pulling into a grassy area off the road, he left the keys in the car and climbed out.

  “Come on,” he ordered, hurrying to the trunk.

  The night air was cool and still. Craig’s hands shook as he pulled the trunk open and grabbed the canvas bag. He felt more than saw Sabra reach his side as he hefted it over his shoulder.

  “Where—”

  “Let’s get away from the car,” he said raggedly. Grabbing her arm, he said, “This way.” He led them up a grassy knoll toward a stand of darkened trees at the top—probably eucalyptus. Right now, he wanted good, thick cover. If those were Garcia’s henchmen, they’d certainly have night goggles or infrared scopes on their weapons that detected body heat. If necessary, he and Sabra could dig shallow holes, cover themselves with dried leaves and wait it out.

  Sabra dug her toes into the damp, moist earth of the hillside. She felt dizzy, but shook it off, trying to keep up with Craig. The hill was steeper than she’d thought, and by the time they’d scaled it, she was breathing hard from the exertion. Following Craig into the heart of the eucalyptus grove, she looked back, but could see no one coming down the road toward where they’d left the car.

  “Over here,” Craig called. He gently placed the canvas bag on the ground and with his hands raked up a bunch of leaves to hide it. “Get down and start digging a shallow grave to lie in.”

  Sabra nodded and fell to her knees. Her fingers felt numb; her head ached. She dug quickly, finding the soil loose.

  “Do you think—”

  “I’m assuming they’ve got night goggles,” he rasped, rapidly digging his own shallow trench. “Maybe infrared. We’re going to have to wait them out. We can’t talk, either. They may have sensing equipment that can pick us up a mile away.”

  Sabra steadied herself and nodded. “I’m going belly down in my grave. Cover me?”

  Craig leaned over and quickly placed dirt and leaves across her legs, back and shoulders. “I’ll be close by. If you see anything, just nudge me lightly with your foot. I’ll do the same. I don’t know how long we’ll have to stay here.”

  Already shivering in the damp ground, Sabra said nothing. Craig had dug his trench close enough to her that if she stretched out her right foot, her toe could make contact with his arm. Trying to steady her breathing, she studied the streets below. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. She could see the lights of Lahaina not far away, the main shopping area that was lit up in carnival-like colors.

  Craig was covering himself the best he could. Night goggles allowed a person to see into the night as if it were daylight, magnifying whatever light was there, so that everything looked light green or yellow. If Garcia’s men had body-heat detectors, they could find them even if they missed them with the night goggles—providing Craig and Sabra were above ground or moving around. If they remained silent, they had a chance of surviving.

  His mind whirled with questions. What had given them away? Had they somehow compromised themselves by their position on the hill earlier today? A bug in their suite? Was there a leak in the police department? Had the detective, Chung, given information to Garcia, acting as a paid informant and mole? Craig didn’t want to think that. Sam Chung didn’t seem the type. But how had Garcia found them?

  He ticked off the possibilities, among them that someone at the hotel could have become suspicious. But how? Their cover was intact, as far as he was concerned. Someone in the airline watching for flights out of D.C. to Hawaii? That was possible, but not high on his list. No, Garcia’s guards must have spotted them earlier today. Damn!

  His mouth grew dry as he saw a vehicle make the turn off the main highway and take the same dirt road they had. It was moving deliberately, as if searching for something—or someone. He felt Sabra nudge his arm with her toe. She’d seen it, too. At least they were armed; but Craig didn’t want a shoot-out. He frowned, squinting as he watched the car crawl up the road. Its headlights stabbed through the darkness, and it slowly turned onto the smaller road where he’d parked their Toyota.

  To his surprise, he saw the lights of a police cruiser suddenly switch on. It was the cops! Watching warily, Craig saw the vehicle pull over next to their car. He felt Sabra nudge him strongly. Could they trust the police? Should they go down and tell them what had happened? Sweat trickled down his temples as he watched. But how did the cops know about this? How could they possibly know he and Sabra had parked there? Perhaps someone in the sparsely populated neighborhood had called the police because the two of them had been tearing around at high speeds on back roads late at night. There were so many possibilities. But right now, Craig instinctively mistrusted the police.

  Anxiously, he watched as two uniformed policemen got out of the cruiser, their flashlights on, and started investigating the bullet-ridden car. They were too far away to hear their voices, but from time to time he could pick up snatches from the police radio in the cruiser. He felt Sabra move. No! Risking everything, he slowly reached out and wrapped his hand around her slender ankle. Giving her flesh a long, slow squeeze, he tried to impress on her that it was vital not to get up, not to move. Would she remain still?

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt the tension in her leg dissolve beneath his hand. Good. She was going to stay put as he had silently requested. Slipping his fingers from her ankle, he brought his hand carefully back against his side. Chances were the cops would check out the car, then call a wrecker to impound it. Releasing a slow breath, Craig knew they had at least another hour of hiding in store before they could escape.

  Sabra tried to stop her teeth from chattering. The wrecker and police cruiser had come and gone. Their car had been hauled away. The road was again clear of any traffic. Her head ached, and she felt the muscles of her legs drawing up from the dampness, wanting to cramp. Just when she thought she could take it no longer, she heard Craig slowly rise from his trench. Leaves fell around he
r, then she felt his hands upon her body, brushing the leaves off of her. Slowly, she turned over and sat up.

  “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

  She gripped it and felt herself being pulled upward. Dizziness assailed her, and Sabra felt herself falling forward. Before she could cry out, Craig’s strong arms wrapped around her and brought her against him. Without a word, she sank into him, her head hurting so much she couldn’t speak for a moment. Instead, Sabra placed her arms around his shoulders and allowed herself the momentary luxury of resting against his strong reassuring bulk. How could he feel so warm? Right now, she was cramping and shivering, her teeth chattering.

  Craig groaned softly and held Sabra tightly against him. She’d flowed against him like sunlight. He was surprised at how strong and supple she felt beneath his hands. She was shivering, and he realized she was very cold. Beginning to rub her back briskly with his hand, he rasped, “Just lean on me. I’ll get you warmed up in a minute.”

  Sabra closed her eyes and surrendered to Craig. No longer did she try and fight what her heart wanted. She felt the slow, powerful beat of his heart against her breasts, felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek and the side of her neck as he ran his hands firmly up and down her back, encouraging her circulation. A soft smile touched her lips as she nestled her head against him. How wrong she’d been about Craig. If anything, he’d acted far more professionally in this crisis than she might have. Knowing that made her trust him even more. His hand felt good, and she automatically tightened her arms around his neck, steadying herself against him.

  Craig forced himself not to pay too much attention to Sabra’s nearness. It was close to impossible, though their circumstances were precarious at best. A few minutes later he felt her stop shivering and gently eased her away from him, enough to look down into her dark, shadowed eyes. Even in the dim light, he could see the dried blood along her right temple, where she’d struck her head earlier. Not only that, but he saw tiny nicks on her neck and shoulder where the exploding glass had cut into her beautiful skin.

  “We need to get help,” Sabra said in a low voice. She was glad Craig didn’t let her go. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her waist and kept her leaning against him.

  “First, we need a room somewhere.” He pointed to Lahaina below. “There are a lot of motels along the main road. We need a room for the night.”

  Sabra nodded. “We can’t go back to the Westin. They’re probably waiting for us there.”

  He frowned and nodded. “We can’t trust anyone, Sabra,” he warned. “Not even the police.”

  “I know,” she said sadly, searching his dark, hard features. “We need to get to a pay phone, something they can’t trace, and alert Perseus.”

  “First things first,” he rasped, leading her to where he’d hidden the canvas bag. “Let’s get a room, and I’ll make the call. You can wash up, get some sleep, and we’ll figure out what our next move will be.”

  Sabra moved away from Craig as he leaned down to pick up the bag. Her knees felt wobbly. She and Craig had almost died. The rush of adrenaline had long since left her. Now, she felt weak and shaky, and she wanted to cry. She knew the reaction was a normal one for her. She saw Craig hold out his hand toward her.

  “Come on,” he entreated softly. He saw the surprise in her eyes and managed a twisted smile. “Whether you like it or not, we’re hip deep in trouble. All we have is each other right now.”

  Sabra lifted her hand and slid it into his. Amazingly, Craig seemed to be unaffected by the chaos and danger of the last few hours. He must be hiding his feelings, she thought, as they carefully made their way down the slope. Right now, they had to remain alert for any possible complications. Garcia’s henchmen could still be around. The cops might be looking for them.

  Moving through back alleys, slipping between houses, Craig got them to Lahaina. A small motel, the Dolphin Inn, displayed a vacancy sign out front, glowing bright red in the darkness. Craig cautioned Sabra to remain in the shadows of the hibiscus bushes with the canvas bag at her feet. He brushed off his shirt and chinos the best he could before heading into the office. Sabra stood unmoving, her back against the wooden wall, well hidden by the lush greenery growing around her. It was three in the morning, and fog was rolling in off the Pacific, beginning to blanket Lahaina. She shivered, desperately wanting a hot shower. It was the kind of cold that went to her bones, and she knew she would take hours to really warm up.

  She heard the door to the office open and close. Holding her breath, she watched the corner of the building. Craig came around it as noiselessly as a shadow.

  He held up the key. “We’ve got a home.” Picking up the bag, he walked back the way he’d come. Sabra followed warily, her gaze pinned on the driveway and highway in front of the small motel. There was hardly any traffic now, most of the island deeply asleep. He led her down to the end of the L-shaped motel.

  “We’re lucky,” he said as he opened the door. “It was the last room he had.”

  She stumbled into the darkened room and flipped the light switch. Squinting against the sudden brightness, she put her hand up to shade her eyes. The room was dingy, with yellow paint peeling off the walls, the drapes old and thin, and the carpet scruffy-looking. But Sabra didn’t care. In the middle of the small room was a double bed covered by a bright red quilt with white hibiscus flowers on it. Yellow and red. Not a great color combination, but at this point Sabra’s only care was for plenty of hot water. She headed into the bathroom.

  Craig closed the door and laid the canvas bag on the floor near the bed. He saw Sabra go into the bathroom. Taking out his pistol, he put a bullet in the chamber, flipped the safety back on and jammed the gun back into the holster beneath his left arm. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was 0300.

  First things first. He went to the bathroom doorway. Sabra was testing the temperature of the water with outstretched fingers. Her hair sparkled with bits of glass still scattered among the thick strands. The left side of her neck was pockmarked with a number of tiny cuts.

  “I’m going to locate a phone to call Perseus,” he told her.

  Sabra straightened. Seeing the darkness in Craig’s eyes, she realized he was as exhausted as she was. “I can do it, if you want.”

  “No, you stay here.” He smiled briefly. “You’ve got a nice goose egg on the right side of your head, did you know that?”

  Frowning, Sabra touched it. “Ouch.”

  “Take your shower and get into bed. I’ll be back as soon as possible. I think I saw a pay phone about two blocks away.”

  “Be careful?”

  “Count on it.” He gestured to the door. “Keep the lights out. When I come back, I’ll knock three times. You let me in.”

  Exhaustion was sweeping over her. “Okay….”

  Craig reached out, grazing her bloodied cheek with a finger. “Just take care of yourself, sweetheart. It’s been one hell of a day.”

  Shaken by his unexpected warm, brief touch, Sabra watched him turn and disappear from view. The motel door opened and closed. Automatically, she forced herself back out into the room to slide the dead bolt into place. Next she dowsed the room lights. Craig was taking a huge risk of being spotted by going to the pay phone, but Sabra knew it was necessary. The sound of running water beckoned to her and she headed back into the bathroom.

  The hot water pummeled the tense, sore muscles along her neck, shoulders and upper back. As she washed her hair, so many shards of glass fell out that she ended up cutting her feet on them. But the fear sweat was washed away and, with it, the last of her shivering. By the time Sabra finished, she felt unbelievably tired. She wanted only sleep.

  She towel dried her hair. Then, looking at her soiled silk pants and blouse, she put them into a sinkful of cold water, glad she’d chosen washable silk. She wrapped a towel around herself, then scrubbed her clothes clean. These were the only clothes she had for now, and come tomorrow, she couldn’t afford to have them looking soiled
or bloody. For the next fifteen minutes, she washed them carefully, then rolled them up in a towel to press out the moisture. Finally, she found the room’s lone closet and hung them on hangers.

  Worriedly, Sabra looked at her watch. It was 0330; half an hour had passed. Craig should be back by now. A sudden lump formed in her throat as Sabra considered the possibilities. She stood in the center of the room, gripping the front of the towel that covered her, fear snaking through her.

  Three sharp knocks sounded at the door. Gasping, she moved to the door. “Craig?”

  “Yeah. Let me in.”

  Sabra breathed a sigh of relief and slid back the dead bolt. Her heart pounding, she opened the door, and Craig quickly slipped inside.

  Craig stared down at Sabra. Her clean hair lay in damp strands against her face and shoulders. He saw the fear and worry in her eyes as he closed the door behind him and twisted the bolt. The white towel emphasized her olive coloring, and he had a tough time not staring. He’d never realized exactly how long limbed she was until now, her beautifully shaped calves and firm, curved thighs extending below the terry cloth.

  “Did you reach them?” Sabra asked, breathlessly aware of Craig’s hooded look, of his power as a man. Automatically, she stepped away.

  He took off his jacket and shrugged out of the shoulder holster. “Yes. They don’t know what went wrong either. Jake is sending the jet over with Killian and two FBI agents—they’re going to join us.”

  “Good,” Sabra whispered, relieved. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt. Despite everything that had happened, Craig looked unruffled with only a few tiny cuts on the left side of his neck to show for it. “It’s a miracle we survived tonight.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said gruffly, throwing the shirt on the bed. He started to unbuckle his pants, then hesitated. Sabra’s eyes had widened, but it didn’t look like fear. His mouth flattened and he allowed his hands to drop from the buckle. “I’m going to take a shower.”