Heart of the Hunter

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Yeah?” he baited. Was he hearing things? Casey wanted him on this mission? What had changed about him? Or maybe it was the way she looked at him that had changed. Her perception, the fact that she could see straight through him, walls and all, was disconcerting and uncomfortable. Yet somehow Reid realized that Casey wasn’t the threat that Janet had been to him…to his deeply guarded emotions. There was a gentleness to Casey that Janet had never had. Maybe that was the difference? Hunter wasn’t sure at all. This stuff with emotions was too damn new to him, and he felt so unsure of himself.

  “Yeah, roger that.”

  He was relieved that Casey had experience working with military individuals. She knew the lingo. She knew the behavior patterns, and that was important, especially if things got a little tense or dangerous. And where they were going, it was going to be dangerous—all the time. If not from the threat of Ebola, then because of the unstable government, the various tribal wars that were constantly flaring up across the land. Then there was the treat of the dreaded, fanatical Black Dawn terrorists. No, when they landed at Kinshasa, all bets were off. It was only a question of when they would be in danger, not if.

  There was a pall of rain across the countryside when they disembarked from the jumbo jet and made their way down slippery, wet stairs toward customs at Kinshasa N’Djili Airport in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, formerly known as Zaire. Reid proffered an umbrella and held it high enough so that he and Casey could take some cover from the pounding rain. The tarmac was shiny with wetness. Soldiers in jungle fatigues stood at the bottom of the staircase and motioned for them to hurry up. The temperature was warm, perhaps in the eighties, from what Reid could judge. Though it was midday, the clouds moving slowly above the capital city’s airport gave the sky a dark and murky look.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Reid automatically placed his arm around Casey’s shoulders and drew her next to him as they walked. She gave him a startled look, but didn’t withdraw from his protection, either. Reid could taste the tension in the humid air. The looks on the soldiers’ faces reflected it as well. They wore SKSs, and he could see that the safeties were off. Their hands seemed a little too quick to touch the trigger guard as the passengers disembarked.

  Everyone was speaking in French, the main language of the former Belgian Congo. Luckily, Reid knew French as well as he did English. And so did Casey, according to the profile he’d read on her. What did surprise him was when two soldiers who stood on guard began speaking in Bantu. He didn’t know what they were saying.

  Casey leaned up and whispered, “There’s trouble, Reid.”

  He glanced down at her, his stride slowing momentarily.

  “What kind?”

  “Apparently a rival force is attacking near the airport, from what those two guards were saying back there.”

  Looking around, he keyed his hearing for the sound of gunshots. Casey was looking around, too.

  “Which direction?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know. They didn’t say.” She grimaced, her mouth thinning. “And I’m not about to give myself away by asking them in Bantu.”

  “No, don’t,” he warned heavily. Knowing the second language of Zaire was a big plus. “What’re the chances of the guards knowing English?”

  She shrugged as they hurried toward the terminal doors, which were guarded by four soldiers. “Dicey. They know just enough to be dangerous. Stick to French and play dumb, okay? Customs can be a son of a bitch to get through… .”

  Meeting her worried gaze, he grinned tightly. “Doctor, my mother used to wash my mouth out with soap when I said a cuss word, too.”

  “Better have plenty on hand then, with me around,” she warned gruffly.

  Reid chuckled, the sound coming from deep in his chest as they moved up the rain-slick concrete steps that led to customs. Once inside the linoleum-floored area, where a number of customs people stared darkly at them, Reid removed his passport and handed it to a tall, older official. Reid’s cover was the OID. On paper he was Dr. Morrow’s lab assistant. Trying to suppress his worry, Reid watched as Casey presented her own passport to an official sitting behind an impressive-looking desk of carved mahogany.

  Another customs official grabbed at his briefcase before Reid could say anything. That was all right; anything having to do with Black Dawn had been left on board the jumbo jet, shredded so no one could read the information, and left in the rest room trash. Everything else in his briefcase was concerned with lab specimens, cultures and other instruments needed for fieldwork. There wasn’t much there that the customs official, who was scowling heavily as he pawed through the contents, could be upset about.

  As they cleared customs, Casey moved to Reid’s side. They walked down another corridor, again lined with soldiers who were nervously shifting from one booted foot to another, their hands hovering over their SKSs. Casey purposely moved close to Reid, until their elbows were touching.

  “We’re supposed to have a C-130 at our disposal. A Colonel Nsonjui is supposed to be waiting for us down there,” Casey said, pointing toward the other end of the terminal.

  Reid nodded and swiveled his head around the area as they emerged from the narrow passageway. For an international airport, N’Djili was looking very deserted—except for a lot of nervous soldiers armed to the teeth with automatic weapons. “Wish to hell we had flak jackets right now,” he muttered under his breath as he lengthened his stride. Casey automatically matched his pace. He reached out and brought her to his other side so that he was between her and the plate glass windows. If bullets started flying, he didn’t want her hit by a stray one.

  “Flak jackets? Give me a helmet, too.” She nervously looked around. “One of the Customs people back there said there’s a firelight going on south of the airport terminal.”

  “How close?”

  ”Dunno. Ain’t gonna ask, either. If those glass windows start to shatter, we’ll have an idea of how close they really are… .”

  Grunting, Reid kept his hand around her upper arm and guided her toward the end of the terminal. He saw an officer in a highly decorated uniform waiting for them. It had to be the colonel. Dividing his attention between the outer threat and the angry-looking colonel, Reid found himself admiring Casey more and more every minute. Ty was right: in a bad situation, she was no weak sister. He could tell by the fine tension running through her that she was very much aware of herself and him in relation to everything else that was going on around them. He’d almost swear she’d had terrorist or undercover operative training by the way she was behaving. It served to put him in a more relaxed mode, at least with regard to his concerns about how she would react to danger.

  “Colonel Nsonjui?” Casey said sweetly, holding out her hand as they approached him. “I’m Dr. Morrow. Thank you for meeting us.”

  Nsonjui, over six feet tall, his cheekbones high and prominent, his dark brown eyes assessing, took her hand. “Mademoiselle, “ he murmured, and leaned over and kissed the back of her hand.

  Reid watched the man with narrowing eyes. The officer’s French was smooth and impeccable, not giving away the agitation that was mirrored in his taut features.

  “We have a situation presently,” the Colonel said, releasing her hand. He then thrust his hand toward Reid.

  Reid gripped it firmly. It was a solid handshake. Maybe Nsonjui was just uptight over the firefight going on. The colonel was supposed to give them firearms once they were on board the C-130. Reid wished he had them now. “Reid Hunter, at your service, Colonel.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Your papers are in order. The minister of transportation has asked me to fly you to Yambuku. It will be my pleasure. Shall we?”

  Casey nodded. The colonel did a smart, efficient about-face and moved quickly, almost with relief, down another hallway that led back toward the tarmac. She hurried to keep up with him, while giving Reid a glance across her shoulder. He followed grimly behind her. She was getting her first taste of his marine side—the
protector, the warrior. There was an incredible sense of power emanating from him, and she could feel the tension in him. His eyes appeared colorless, the pupils small and tight, his mouth thinned and hard. Yet the moment their gazes met and touched briefly, she felt an overwhelming sense of care blanketing her.

  Opening the umbrella as they trotted down the wet tarmac to the awaiting C-130 Hercules cargo aircraft, Reid kept his hearing keyed for gunfire in the distance. The south end of the runway was where this plane would have to take off. What would prevent the rebels from firing up at its belly as it passed over them? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Reid hurried Casey up the steps into the cargo hold of the gray-painted C-130. Handing her the umbrella, he watched as the colonel snapped at the flight crewman to shut the door behind them.

  “Colonel?”

  “Yes?” he said, clearly irritated to be halted on his way to the cockpit.

  “Is this bird taking off to the south?” Reid held his stare.

  “The wind direction is such, Mr. Hunter, that I have no choice.”

  Reid felt Casey grip his arm. She moved up to where he stood in the semidark hold.

  “We’re just concerned about the firefight, Colonel,” she said.

  He raked his long fingers through his black hair. “I am, too, Dr. Morrow. I am, too. I suggest you strap in. Prayer is an option.” He turned on his heel, snapped a string of orders to the two flight sergeants and then climbed up a ladder into the cockpit.

  Casey compressed her lips. “Welcome to Zaire,” she muttered, and released Reid’s arm. Turning, she went to the nylon netting that served as a seat. Reid followed her. One of the sergeants handed each of them a 9 mm pistol and several canvas pouches filled with extra magazines. They were both issued black leather shoulder holsters as well.

  Before long, the C-130 was shaking as the four turboprop engines began to whine to life, one at a time. Reid sat beside Casey. He noticed the two flight sergeants, who were strapped in near the cockpit area, had donned flak jackets and helmets. Looking around the dimly lit hold, he saw a lot of boxes but no more flak jackets or helmets.

  During their last flight Casey had changed into an olive-colored one-piece outfit. It was darkened here and there with rain splatters. The web belt around her waist made her look more the like a soldier than a civilian. The web belt was a good idea, Reid thought as he watched her attach the canvas carriers containing the extra magazines to it.

  “Done this a time or two, eh?”

  She smiled tightly. “Yes, you could say that.” She glanced at him. He’d put on a lightweight, dark green jacket. “Where are you putting the extra ammo?”

  Removing the magazines, he said, “In the pockets of my jacket.” Reid saw that the pistol did not have a magazine in it. Taking a clip, he slammed it into the butt of the pistol and locked it. In case the plane was shot at and forced to land, he wanted to be ready—for anything.

  The C-130 began to move slowly. The whine of the engines increased and the hulking cargo plane began to make its way to the north end of the runway.

  ”Helluva welcome to Zaire,” Casey muttered nervously. She pulled on the shoulder holster and snapped it shut. Making sure she had a clip of ammunition in her own pistol, she also locked it and then put the safety on. Pushing the weapon down into the holster, she placed the leather strap across it.

  “I’ve never been shot at from beneath a plane takin‘ off before.”

  “Welcome to war, Doctor.”

  “Not my idea of fun, Hunter. Not at all.”

  He reached out, his hand covering hers, which was balled into a tense fist on her thigh. “This colonel knows what he’s doing. He knows there’s trouble down at the takeoff point. My bet is he’s gonna do a JATO assist, and about halfway down this runway, he’ll yank the yoke back in protest, so this bird sails straight up in a vertical takeoff to avoid that area.”

  Casey’s eyes rounded. “Really?”

  “Yeah, so hang on, Doctor. This is gonna get a little testy, believe me… .”

  She trusted Reid with her life in that moment. It was clear he knew about these things. And she’d seen the hardness in the colonel’s eyes as he’d marched determinedly to the cockpit. The man had flown quite a few hours, and she was sure he wouldn’t have survived this long if he wasn’t good at what he did.

  At the end of the runway, the C-130 began to shake and shudder as the colonel, who was at the yoke, pushed all four throttles into full forward position. Casey was familiar with JATOs—jet-assisted takeoff rockets. They were placed on the sides of the aircraft’s fuselage to give it a short-runway takeoff. The shorter the better, as far as she was concerned. The warmth and strength of Hunter’s hand over hers felt very good right now.

  Her heart was beginning to pound as the C-130 began to shake like a dog trying to get rid of fleas. The engines were screaming like four banshees. She wanted to cover her ears, the sound was so high pitched and serrating to her sensitive hearing. Suddenly, the brakes were released. Almost simultaneously, Casey heard the JATOs ignite. The roar in the hold of the cargo bay was like thunder careening through the dimly lit area.

  Her lips opened. She felt like screaming. The plane lunged forward, no longer the slow, ugly-duckling cargo aircraft of before. Gravity shoved Casey against the bulkhead. Reid’s hand tightened on hers. From where they sat, she could see both pilots, since the cockpit was open. The C-130 was shaking badly now. The roar of the rockets heightened.

  The shrillness of the engines increased to ear-splitting levels. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. She felt the nose of the plane suddenly thrust upward. Straight up! Gasping, Casey clung to Reid, as she was thrown violently against the bulkhead. She felt his arm move around her shoulders to steady her. The aircraft groaned, its metal plates straining. The noise in the hold was overwhelming. The shuddering increased. Were they going to crash?

  Hunter held Casey tightly in his arms as the bird made a wobbling lunge skyward. Graceful the C-130 was not. Reid felt every bolt and plate in the plane’s skin stretch in protest over the terrific amount of gravity imposed on her old, aging frame. Would this bird hold together in such an evasive maneuver? His gaze was riveted to the colonel’s and his copilot’s hands as they arced across those four throttles. Come on, come on, hold together… hold together… !

  The C-130 continued its steep climb. The engines strained; the shrieking continued. Reid’s heart jammed into his throat. His mouth went dry. The bird could fall apart under this kind of demanding strain. Reid had flown enough in the Herk to know that it was a powerful, undervalued workhorse. His faith in this Lockheed aircraft was on the line. He’d never seen a vertical takeoff like this one. Yet the pilot had no choice, it was either risk stalling out and falling out of the sky because the ascent was too steep, or risk getting 20 mm, full-metal-jacket bullets ripping up the belly of this old cargo bird and sending them into a fiery hell.

  Casey had pressed her face against Reid’s chest. Her gesture, her sudden need for protection, took him by utter surprise. She seemed so worldly, so capable of taking care of herself, yet in this moment she was turning to him for protection. It was a delicious shock to Reid. And even more astounding, he found himself winding his arms around her as she sought haven against him. He held her tightly as her arms wrapped around him, squeezing the breath out of him. He felt sorry for her, inadequately prepared for this wartime maneuver. The soft dampness of her hair pressed against his chin. If he had to die, at least she was in his arms, where he’d wanted her all along. The thought was forbidden, but filled with a bright, blaring life of its own. Reid closed his eyes, his body braced against the force of gravity and the bucking, violent motion of the aircraft. He inhaled her sweet, spicy scent. She felt good against him. She fit him in all the right places. Wildly aware of her breasts pressed against him, he absorbed her as a woman. Yes, if he had to die, this was the way he wanted to go—with her in his arms.

  Suddenly, the pilot banked hard to the left. The C-130 hung in the air f
or a split second. Then the plane turned, practically on the tip of its left wing. Reid gripped Casey hard. He heard her cry out as the plane plummeted. Had the colonel stalled out? Reid wasn’t sure; he wasn’t a pilot. But he did know that too high an angle and not enough air under the wings could create a deadly stall where the plane would plummet earthward as it was doing now.

  Breath jammed in his chest. Reid’s eyes widened. He felt the C-130 lurch sickeningly. What the hell? He almost mouthed the words. Then, just as suddenly, the plane leveled out. Shakily, Reid released his held breath. His arms eased from around Casey as she slowly lifted her head, her gaze moving from the cockpit up to him. Their faces were inches apart.

  “My God,” she croaked, “are we out of danger?”

  Reid released her so she could sit up. The C-130 was now climbing much less steeply, the JATO rockets suddenly cutting out. The silence was a welcome relief. “Yeah, I think so,” he rasped. Worriedly, he looked her over. “You okay?” He was still concerned about stray bullets finding the C-130’s vulnerable underbelly.

  Pushing her trembling fingers through her hair, Casey nodded. “I—I think so. Wow, whatta takeoff, huh?”

  He nodded and saw the fear in her dark green eyes. Her hair was badly mussed and he reached out to tame a few locks back into place, away from her eyes.

  Reid’s touch was galvanizing. Casey felt his fingers easing her hair gently behind her ears. His touch was electric. Necessary. Gulping, she sat very still with her eyes closed, simply absorbing his touch. Her stomach was quivering and she tasted fear. They could have died. The plane could have crashed. As she opened her eyes and met his colorless ones, she realized how precious life really was—especially now, with him. As he withdrew his fingers from her hair, she took a deep, shaky breath.

  “Thanks, I needed that… .”

  “Anytime,” he rasped. What on earth had made him do that? Tuck that errant, dark red strand of hair behind her ear?