Maybe Jurgensen would hurt Micki.
Stamina spent, Luke's muscles slackened, dropping him back down to take his weight against the ropes. The agony of muscles, joints, and tendons forced past their endurance, and the thought of Micki at Jurgensen's mercy, drew a cry from him despite his determination to remain silent. He imagined that, in the distance, Micki called his name in answer.
If Jurgensen hurt her, then Luke would have to tell him what he wanted to know. He'd tell him anything and everything to make him stop. None of this was Micki's fault.
Clenching his eyes shut, he fought for control. Was there something he could tell them to make them let her go? He seemed to hear her, frightened and lost, calling his name.
Think, Hardigan, what are you going to tell the bastard when he comes back that will convince him to release Micki? What—
There was a flurry of movement near him, and Luke jerked instinctively, expecting another boot in his gut or fist in his face. What he was not expecting was a warm female body pressed against him, the scent of expensive perfume, and a passionate kiss on his lips. Grunting in surprise, he tried to pull away, but the woman held him entwined as if to hold him forever.
"Luke!" Her breath was warm and sweet on his neck. "Oh, Luke, I thought I'd lost you!" Covering his face and lips with tiny, ardent kisses, she ran a gentle hand across his bruised, unshaven cheek. She sounded as if she was crying, or close to it. "Dirk told me you were dead."
Squinting in the brilliance of a flashlight beam that was in his face, Luke tried to make out her features. All he could see was a mane of tousled dark hair and a slender body clad in a black silk garment that was barely long enough to be called a dress. Was this another of Jurgensen's tricks? This woman sounded like Micki, but his eyes were telling him a completely different story.
Turning his head to shield his eyes from the light, Luke managed to evade her kisses and her touch long enough to ask a wry question. "Who are you?"
With a sound of displeasure, she fell back a step, taking the blinding light with her. Now maybe he could see...
"Don't start with me, Yank." Indignant, she gave him a firm thump on both shoulders, sending an unintentional jolt of pain through his body. "You put me through hell, making me think you were dead."
"Micki?" Luke regarded her in amazement, trying to resolve what his senses were telling him. It was her all right, all hellfire and vinegar, but perfumed and poured into a black silk dress with her hair spilling freely about her face and shoulders.
Stepping back, she knelt and began rummaging through some sort of bundle. Still thunderstruck, Luke watched her, taking in the long expanse of shapely leg and the gentle drape of the dress across her...
Micki shot him a glower. "Not a word about the dress or I'm leaving you hanging here. Got it?"
Luke smiled sheepishly. "Got it. How'd you find me?"
"Long story." Micki got to her feet with what looked to be a small paring knife held in her hand.
As if that were explanation enough, she stepped near again, slipped the knife under the rope about his wrists, and began to saw its strands. Looking down into her face, Luke brushed his cheek against her hair, the only gesture of affection he could make.
"Micki?" When her gaze shifted from the rope to his eyes, he asked softly, "Did Jurgensen hurt you? If he did I swear I'll—"
Before he could say more, she brushed her lips against his and he found himself leaning forward into her embrace.
"No." She answered the pressure of his body against hers with a yielding of her own. "He didn't hurt me. Not physically, anyway."
Luke moved toward her lips for another kiss, but she pulled away, breaking the moment.
"Now quit blathering and let me get these ropes off. We've got to get out of here before he finds out I'm gone."
Moving in close, Micki blocked his body with hers as she began to cut through the rope again, preventing the agonizing sway that pulled at the muscles and tendons in his wrists and arms. Luke appreciated that, but all the same had to resist the temptation to groan. With her arms above her head and her body pressed tightly against his, there were sensations stirring in him that were in direct contrast with the agonized signals coming from his arms and back. Luke couldn't decide if he were in heaven or hell. Micki was doing the best she could with a knife that looked like it was made for cutting vegetables, not rope, but if something didn't give soon, then he just might topple right over the brink of insanity.
It was with great relief that he finally felt the rope's strands begin to part and slowly give way. Reaching for the floor with his feet, he was astonished when his legs would not support him and instead spilled him onto his backside.
Micki, hands on her hips in a familiar stance, regarded him in amusement. She obviously had no idea how breathtaking she was in that dress. "That was graceful, Hardigan."
Luke began to push himself to his feet, but she shook her head and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"No, stay there a minute." She went to what looked like a silk-blouse-turned-into-luggage, with the tails tied to form the bottom and the arms tied to make a shoulder strap, and drew out a plastic bottle of water. "Here."
Grateful, Luke accepted it and drank deeply. He emptied it halfway before he spoke. "Where'd you get this?"
"Commandeered it."
Micki smiled in a way that made Luke's heart turn over. It was impossible to pinpoint just when he had fallen for her. Him—Luke Hardigan—the Navy hunk in Dress Whites, a guy who was never in need of a date, had actually fallen in love.
Before he could say anything, she knelt behind him and began massaging his shoulders with firm, knowing hands. It felt like heaven, and slowly the numbness in his muscles began to fade. If only he could stay put for a century or two and enjoy it.
Luke turned to her, an act that brought them face to face. "We've got to get moving. I don't know when Jurgensen's coming back. How'd you get in here, anyway?"
She nodded toward the darkness before them. "Through a door off a service corridor. I slipped in when Dirk came out, before the door closed."
"It's locked, I take it?"
Micki nodded. "And my key card doesn't work."
"Your what?"
"My key card. They seem pretty big on technology around here. I took it from my guard after I bashed him over the head."
With a groan, Luke pushed himself to his feet and dropped a hand down to give Micki a lift up. She, of course, ignored it and rose unassisted. Some things, it seemed, never changed.
"Then we'll just have to use the other door," he said.
"Other door?"
***
Luke led her to the far side of the dark cellar, explaining that he groggily remembered the riveted steel door from when they had first brought him in. Beyond it was an underground passage, he said, but because he was drugged at the time he couldn't remember where it led. It had been no surprise that her key card hadn't worked in that lock either, or that he immediately came up with a plan to 'hot wire the system.'
Delegated to the menial task of holding the flashlight, Micki frowned skeptically. So far Luke's tinkering hadn't yielded any promising results, and the more time that passed, the more uneasy she became. Dirk would be going up to the room to collect her for dinner any minute, and when he did, The Big Escape would be all over.
A tiny spark arced as Luke poked at the exposed circuit board with the tip of the paring knife. The stolen utensil wasn't exactly a precision tool, but it was the best they had under the circumstances.
"We haven't got all day, you know," Micki said anxiously.
"We'll be out of here in a couple of minutes, beautiful."
"Don't call me that," she snapped out of reflex, though her heart wasn't in it. Her grief when she had thought Luke dead had knocked a few bricks out of her defensive wall, and she was going to have to put a lot of effort into building it back up.
Either that, or let him in completely.
The thought startled h
er, making her jump.
"I could do a lot better if you held the light still," Luke grumbled impatiently.
Steadying the tiny flashlight with both hands, Micki watched his dark head bend closer to inspect the electronic lock's inner workings. They'd been through so much together; it seemed impossible that they had only known each other for three days.
You can't fall in love with someone in three days.
But she had with Dirk—blinded by the spontaneous and electric chemistry between them. How could something that had felt so right turn out to be so wrong?
No longer trusting her feelings, Micki turned her thoughts elsewhere. Luke was still wearing the camouflage pants and t-shirt he had stolen from the guy on the beach, making her wonder what sort of abuse lay hidden underneath. She didn't like the black and blue swelling on his face, or the slightly hunched way he held himself, or the stiff way he moved. Dirk had turned into one of his own favorite sayings; a demon in disguise.
Micki grunted and shifted her bare feet on the cold cellar floor. "Are you getting anywhere with that or not? You may be a crack Navy lawyer, but as a locksmith, you suck."
Ignoring her, Luke took the flashlight and leaned forward to inspect the panel again. There was the hollow pop of an electrical explosion and a white flare of light that completely haloed his head. With a yelp of pain, he staggered back with one arm flung protectively across his eyes.
Micki started forward, and had her hand on his arm before she even thought about it. "Luke! Are you okay?"
"Damn it," he growled wryly, arm still pressed to his eyes. "Haven't these people heard of overload protection?"
"Let me see."
"I'm okay. Just a little singed."
"Let me see."
Luke gave in, lowering his arm and blinking repeatedly. "Really, I'm fine."
She took the flashlight from him. Fearing the worst, she was relieved to see there were only minor first degree burns to his face, centering about his eyes. His eyebrows and lashes were singed, but nowhere did she see evidence of the injury she had feared. Micki touched him lightly on the curve of his jaw, drawing a tiny flinch from him as if she took him by surprise.
"Doesn't look too bad," she told him gently. "I've seen tourists who've fallen asleep on the beach look worse. You're just going to have the pain without the tan."
"Sure," Luke said, reaching up to take her fingers.
Shining the flashlight at the panel, she was amazed to see that in all the excitement she had missed the fact that the lock had released with the fireworks. The steel door was now slightly ajar. "Hey, you did it!"
"Yeah, probably fried the circuits." He squeezed her hand, his gaze moving in the direction of the door.
Micki took two steps, her hand still clasped in Luke's. Only when he took one uncertain step after her, calling her name in a soft question, did she hesitate. Looking from the open door to him, standing so still and showing no reaction when the flashlight beam strayed over his face, she realized the chilling truth.
The man holding her hand and doing his best to assure her that everything was going to be okay... was now blind.
An odd spasm in the center of her chest made it hard to breathe. Dropping his hand, Micki took a step back toward Luke and chided gently, "Why didn't you tell me you can't see?"
Luke scowled. "Who says I can't see? I've just got spots in front of my eyes, is all. It'll pass."
Waving a hand before his face yielded no response. "We've got to get out of here, Luke." Before he could protest, she guided his hand onto her shoulder. "Come on."
"You go." Stubbornly, he pulled his hand away. "I probably set off a dozen alarms and guards are going to be pouring in here any minute. I'll slow them down for you." He swept an arm toward a dark corridor heading away to the right. "That way. That's the way they brought me in."
"Don't go all noble on me now, Hardigan," Micki snapped, taking his hand firmly and jerking him toward the open door. "I've just got my mind made up about you and I don't want to change it. Now come on!"
Obviously reluctant, Luke followed her into the corridor. A light set just above their heads flared on as they moved into the hall, triggered by their motion. It threw a circle of light about them while darkness ran unrelieved in either direction.
Hesitating, Micki cast a glance up and down the corridor before setting off in the direction Luke had indicated. As they moved forward, light after light blazed into life, while the ones behind remained on for a few moments then faded to black.
Rounding a curve in the corridor, Micki caught a sudden glimpse of watery light ahead. "I see something."
"Might be our way out," Luke said, his fingers tightening on her shoulder as they crept forward.
"It's a boat dock!" she whispered in excitement, taking them into the natural cavern that opened before them.
Dark restless sea lapped and stirred against rock and metal, flowing into the grotto via a triangular fissure in the rock. Steel docks ran out over the surface and around the chamber, allowing for loading and unloading of the bogus merchandise that came through there. To the right, through the fissure, was a narrower waterway lit by a string of low beam lights, leading out to what Micki assumed was the ocean and freedom. Other land corridors, like the one in which they stood, arrowed away into blackness like spokes from the hub of a wheel. Normally the place must hum with activity.
Normally, Micki thought with a frown, but not today. The entire area was deserted and silent, save for the dark water that lapped leisurely beneath the empty docks.
"Oh, no."
"What?"
"There aren't any boats." Micki scanned the huge cave again, hoping she was wrong. Her gaze came to rest on a reflective surface on the far side, for a moment making her think that maybe things weren't so hopeless after all. On a metal table sat a marine band radio. It made sense; someone had to be in control of guiding the boats in and out of here. Otherwise these pirates would be crashing into one another in that narrow exit/entrance waterway.
Towing Luke after her, Micki hurriedly explained what she had found. Reaching it, she noted a ribbon of cable that disappeared up into the limestone, presumably to an antenna located somewhere on the surface. Shrugging off Luke's hand and her makeshift backpack, Micki flicked the switch to bring the radio to life. Thanking God that there was power, she tucked the flashlight under her arm, lifted the mike, and concentrated on finding a channel to call for help.
Luke backed up a few cautious steps and cocked his head in the direction they had come. Watching him as she spoke, and realizing he was listening for the sound of pursuit that would be coming very, very soon, Micki frantically tried another frequency in her search for a human voice.
Finally, she was rewarded with a calm British accent. "Hamilton Harbor Police. What is the nature of your emergency?"
"Micki, I think they're coming," Luke said.
Gripping her flashlight in one hand and the microphone in the other, Micki pressed the talk button. "We're being held prisoner on Dominic Van Allen's estate. It's on an island. I don't know which one."
The dispatcher's voice cut sharply across her plea. "Is this a prank call?"
"No!" She couldn't accept the possibility that she might be disbelieved. "He's holding us here against our will, but we escaped into a cave, somewhere on the island."
Luke edged back to her, his outstretched hand flailing about in search of her. "We're about to have company, beautiful."
"Who did you say this was?"
Now Micki could hear the sounds coming from the same corridor through which she and Luke had fled. "Micki Jacinto. And Luke Hardigan of the US Navy. He—"
"Micki!" Luke dove toward her voice, pushing her to the ground as armed men burst into the cavern on the other side of the dock.
The impact of hitting the floor in Luke's arms knocked the flashlight out of Micki's hand. She watched helplessly as it rolled down the incline to land in the water with a splash. She did manage to hang onto the microphone,
its coiled cord stretching toward the radio like a taut lifeline. Shouts rang out as the group of five men spotted them across the water.
Gunfire erupted about them, the bullets ricocheting hazardously off the stone walls and pinning them down behind the metal table. Micki's gaze fell to her shirt-turned-bag of supplies, dropped carelessly at her feet when the radio became a more urgent necessity. There was a gun in that bag, stolen from her guard, which might give her and Luke a little leverage. At least they wouldn't be sitting ducks. But she couldn't reach it or the bag without putting herself in the direct line of fire.
Luke was scrambling to his haunches, keeping his head down. The radio stand offered some cover, but not for long. "There's got to be some other way out of here!"
The roar of multiple assault rifles firing in a confined space was deafening. Reluctant to abandon the radio, her link to the outside world, Micki resisted Luke's urgings to move. There was a brief lull in the shooting, giving her time to shout one last desperate message into the mike as Luke dragged her to her feet and away.
"Listen, they shot down my Cessna over the Florida Keys and kidnapped us. You've got to send help—"
The mike was jerked from her hands as they reached the end of its cord.
"Which way!" Luke yelled, instinctively ducking as the radio took a direct hit and exploded into sparks and flames and a plume of pungent smoke.
She scanned for the nearest exit—the nearest of the dark spoke-like corridors—and instead saw that the man leading the pack around the docks toward them was Reynolds.
A dim opening lay two or three yards to their left.
"Micki!"
Grabbing Luke's hand, she hissed, "Follow me!"
Another of the motion lights snapped on above them as they entered the corridor at a bent-over run, spotlighting them like hunted animals. Straight ahead was a sharp turn. At least that would shield them from the bullets for a few precious moments.
Metal doors were set in the smooth limestone walls at regular intervals, and with a small portion of her attention Micki realized these tunnels had been manmade. No doubt the doors, which all bore electronic locks, were storerooms for the counterfeit goods that were shipped in via the sea cave.
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