Micki tried to hug the wall to avoid tripping the motion lights, but the mechanisms were too sensitive. Time after time, a stray movement too far into the arc spilled the betraying glare over them.
The alternating pattern of light and dark in the arching stone was surreal, lending an air of nightmare to the flight. She was hampered by Luke's stumbling and slower pace, and their pursuers grew steadily closer. At least they had stopped shooting. The stone distorted echoes of shouted curses and running footsteps reverberated about them like malevolent ghosts nipping at their heels.
Somewhere in the chaos, Micki heard the phrases, 'dead end' and 'got 'em!' and prayed that she was interpreting it wrong. Although the corridor seemed to go on forever, she knew it had to end somewhere. If she didn't find another outlet before they reached it...
The floor and walls had roughened, as if that section of the corridor was a more natural formation and less manmade. There was a graceful curve to it, protecting them from view, and Micki strove to increase the pace to take every advantage of it.
In the brief spell of darkness between the glare from one motion light and triggering the next, she sensed a deeper darkness directly to her right. It must be an intersecting corridor! Reacting out of pure instinct, she wheeled into it, dragging Luke with her.
"What...?"
"Shhh—" Her warning ended at the same moment she collided with stone. Unaware, Luke slammed into her back.
"You okay?" He took hold of her arms as he stepped back.
"Yeah." Micki ran her hands over the cold, rough limestone in the dark in front of her. A sudden, bitter flood of disappointment assailed her. It was a dead end—more a natural alcove than another passage. There was barely room for them to stand side by side without being in the main corridor itself. Her heart sank as she realized that this was not the easy escape route into concealing darkness that she had imagined.
Worse, her desperate ploy to take them out of the line of sight had cost precious time—time that may cost them their freedom and their lives. Unless...
Inspired by an impulsive idea to make use of the motion lights that had so hampered them, Micki spun to dig in the pockets of Luke's camo pants, since she had none of her own.
"Micki!" he yelped softly. "What are you doing? This is one hell of a place to get passionate!"
Shushing him, she extracted the first thing that came to hand—a plastic comb—and faced the corridor again. She leaned far enough into it to get a clear shot, counting on the darkness of the alcove to conceal her. Flinging the comb into the blackness beyond, she was gratified with a glimpse of it arcing away, triggering at least two motion detectors, before she was forced to duck out of sight. The sound of pursuit was just too close.
"Micki?"
"Shhh, stay quiet and stay still." She put her arm across his chest to force him back as far as possible in the tiny space. It wouldn't do her plan any good to have a foot sticking out and trip Reynolds or any of his men right in front of their hidey hole.
It was only a heartbeat before the chase reached them that Micki felt a cool strip of air down her back and legs. As men pounded blindly past them in the dark, exhilaration quickened her pounding pulse. She reached a hand to investigate the rock wall behind her. Yes! There was a cleft venting air, and if it were just wide enough to squeeze through...
Slipping her hand into it when the group had clamored by, she was rewarded by a space several hand spans wide, running from the floor to several inches above her head. It wasn't much, but at least it was somewhere to run.
"Come on," she whispered to Luke. Moving, she found she could slip sideways into the promising crack.
"Where?"
"Here. Follow me." Micki took another step into total darkness on the other side of the crevice, the air current ruffling the loose hair about her face. There, she found solid stone beneath her feet and a wider area around her.
Luke, however, was still on the other side. She pulled on his hand, but he bumped into the stone and recoiled.
"No," she said impatiently, guiding him until he grasped the edge of the fissure with his free hand. "In here."
"I... can't."
From behind them came muffled curses and a shout; "Where the hell did they go?" Clearly the corridor was a dead end, and it was only going to be a matter of seconds before Reynolds figured out they'd given him the slip and backtracked.
"Get your flat belly in here, Hardigan! And then pray none of those big gorillas are going to be able to squeeze through. Damn it, you can do this! Come on, try!"
There was a groan from Luke, and the sounds of his struggle to squeeze through the narrow crack. "I won't fit!"
"You have to," she insisted, as he fought to free himself from her grasp. "Because I'm not letting go of your hand, Luke, so if they pull you out, then they'll pull me out too."
"Damn it, let go!"
"No way." She grabbed a handful of his stolen camo splashed t-shirt for leverage. "Now come on! Exhale!"
She heard him comply and hauled mightily on his shirt. There was a rip of material, a stifled grunt, and suddenly Luke was halfway through. He popped out on her side with a gasping groan, having left most of the camo print, and a fair bit of skin, on the craggy limestone.
At least, Micki thought grimly, he was through. His hand still in hers, she drew him aside into the pitch black darkness, away from the easy reach of the men she could now hear just beyond their hiding place.
"Damn it," a gruff voice said. Reynolds. "They must have gone in here." He shouted into the opening. "I know you're in there, honey, and Lover Boy's nowhere around to save your pretty little neck this time. An 'accident' would have been good, but 'shot while trying to escape' works just as well."
A hand holding a long-barreled aluminum flashlight appeared as its chubby owner fought to squeeze through, splaying a beam over the natural limestone that pressed in on all sides to form a passageway. Watching Reynolds, Micki smiled in grim satisfaction. That fat spider would never fit and neither, she believed, would any of his men. Impulsively pushing Luke out of the way, she snatched the light from Reynolds' hand.
"Thanks, I can use this." Before the surprised man could react, she slammed his arm in a direction it was not meant to bend and was rewarded with a sharp snap and a howl of pain. "You scum. I wish to God I had a knife and then you'd be drawing back a stump!"
"What's happening?" Luke asked.
Now was no time for explanations. Ignoring him, and Reynolds' howled promises of what he was going to do with her, Micki grabbed Luke's flailing hand, focused the purloined flashlight, and started them down the rough passage before them.
They were well around one sharp turn before the men behind the fissure got themselves sorted out enough to send a burst of frustrated, ineffectual, gunfire after them. Hearing bullets smack against the limestone behind them, Micki brought them to a stop.
"Do you know where we are?" Luke asked warily.
Micki shined the flashlight in his face, and then frowned when he didn't even flinch. He still couldn't see.
"Sure," she said, ashamed of being grateful he couldn't see her lie. "We're in some kind of cave. By the time they figure out a way in, we're bound to be out."
Eerie echoes bounced back to taunt her in the ringing silence after the gunfire. Micki let her stolen light play over the passage that branched in three lightless directions before them.
"Bound to be," she repeated, hoping Luke would believe it, even if she didn't.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Micki?" Dirk's desperate shout echoed through the darkness beyond the motion lights. There was no answer—had been no answer since he'd caught up to the pursuit group stalled at the crack through which Micki and Hardigan had escaped—but he had to keep trying. "Come back here, sweetheart. Please? We can talk about this!"
The only answer came from the irate man behind him. "If I ever get my hands on her, Jurgensen, that bitch is dead!"
Dirk spun to glower at Reynolds. He sat slumped
in an agonized heap, moaning and hugging his broken arm to his chest. They were presently alone in the corridor, since Dirk had sent the other men in search of tools to widen the breach in the rock.
"You did this, Reynolds. You chased her in there, you son of a—"
"Like hell!" Sweating and pale, Reynolds struggled to his feet. Once standing, he closed on Dirk like a wounded animal on the attack. "If you'd been thinking with the head on your shoulders, we'd have cut outta the Keys free and clear. You never should have brought her here."
"Shut up!" Dirk's hands closed into fists. "And stay out of this, it's not your problem." Without breaking eye contact, he bellowed over his shoulder, "Where's that damn equipment?"
"It is my problem," Reynolds thundered, his injured arm cradled protectively. "It's personal, and I'm personally gonna wring your girlfriend's pretty little neck!"
Enraged, Dirk grabbed a handful of the other man's shirt. "Touch her and I'll—"
"You'll what? Kill me?"
A cold, sharp object pressed against his throat and Dirk belatedly remembered the other's switchblade. His chin lifted as Reynolds applied pressure, but stood his ground. After all, this was Micki's life they were discussing.
Reynolds continued in a hiss. "I don't think so, pal. You're gonna be too busy worrying about your own neck."
Dirk sensed movement behind him. At last, the tools. It was time to put an end to this. Releasing the handful of shirt he still held, he took a slow step back. "Don't be stupid. I still outrank you, and when I get Micki out of there, not you or anybody else touches her."
Reynolds' laugh, as he closed the switchblade, was short and ugly. "You still don't get it, do you? It's a done deal. She's as good as dead right now."
A cultured voice doused the conflict like a bucket of cold water. "Gentlemen, please."
Dirk turned reluctantly, feeling like a schoolboy caught fighting on the playground. Dominic Van Allen looked as unperturbed as if he had halted a mild disagreement over the weather, and strolled forward with his hands clasped behind him. Two armed bodyguards stopped and stood watchfully at his back.
"I'm afraid, gentlemen, that the resolution to this problem will not meet either of your expectations."
Reynolds, who had moved up beside Dirk, lost his smug smile. "What? But you said I could—"
"Mr. Van Allen, sir," Dirk cut in, drawing another step toward his boss, "I know this looks bad but I can handle it. I'll get Micki and Hardigan back, and then I'll clamp a lid on this thing. There won't be any more problems."
"Yes, I agree. There will be no more problems, because I am taking this matter out of your hands, Dirk." Van Allen's gaze shifted to Reynolds. "I see you've had a bit of a mishap, Gordon. Go upstairs and have it looked at."
Reynolds frowned. "What about the girl?"
"I have plans for taking care of her and her companion. Now I want you to go and see to your injury." His voice was too precise, too devoid of emotion, and the heavy set man subsided immediately. With a last sullen glance at Dirk, he slowly made his way down the corridor as ordered, the motion lights flickering on and off as he passed.
Dirk directed his plea to his boss. "You gave me a week to change her mind. I can still do that. All I need is to be able to get in there." He gestured toward the cleft that was presently too small for him to squeeze through. "Once I—"
"The situation has changed, Dirk, as they seem to do when your women are involved. You've forced me to deal with this in my own way."
The cool British tone was tempered with steel that stopped Dirk in his tracks. This could not be happening. He had planned this too well for it to go this wrong.
A flick of Van Allen's head brought one of his men forward. "William will take you upstairs and see that you have time to reflect on what nearly happened here."
"No!" Striding forward, Dirk moved to intercept his employer, who had begun a step toward the crack in the wall. "You can't..."
Van Allen's bodyguard caught his left arm, spun him about, and shoved him in the direction Reynolds had taken. Dirk planted his feet and struggled to resist. It was a vain effort. The other man who had flanked their employer gripped his right arm to add strength to the fray.
"Please, Mr. Van Allen! Give me another chance, I can handle Micki!"
Fighting to keep his boss in view, Dirk was chilled by the sight of Van Allen crossing to the crack where his security had been breached. Though his silhouette was sublimely composed as he inspected the imperfect limestone wall, Dirk could see that the man's hands, which he had believed clasped calmly behind his back, were in fact held fisted in rage.
It was then, for the first time, that the full impact of the situation hit him. By bringing Micki to this place, to these people, Dirk may have written her death sentence.
***
Beyond the meager beam of her flashlight it was as black as proverbial pitch, with darkness pressing in on all sides like a living thing. Swallowing hard, Micki imagined she could feel it oozing against their backs, flowing in their wake like a malevolent tide and waiting until they had entered far enough into its domain to engulf them forever.
She shivered, as much from fear as cold. The cave was chilly and she was wearing precious little clothing, but the dark itself seemed to be sucking the warmth from her body. Only Luke's strong hand on her shoulder kept her rampant imagination at bay. She was supposed to be the one doing the leading here and he was depending on her, not the other way around.
Luke's voice floated over her shoulder. "You doing okay?"
"Fine," she said curtly, not willing to elaborate lest a telling note of trepidation creep into her voice. In the beginning, they had been presented with three choices of direction. Reynolds' cursing had initially chased them down the left hand branch. Dirk's beseeching had soon replaced it. Now there was only silence and she couldn't decide which was worse. She could imagine all sorts of things in a place like this. Had Dirk dug his way in? Was he tracking her even now? What would she do if he found them?
Her knuckles white around the precious flashlight, Micki fought against another horror that had surfaced in the quiet, cool darkness. With time to think came dealing with the memory of how Fizz had died. It would no longer be denied. Every time her attention wandered, the memory of his black and white form, nearly swallowed by the vast ocean as he struggled to reach his mistress, threatened to overwhelm her. He had been swimming frantically to reach her and protect her, as she had failed to do for him.
A sound suspiciously like a sob made Luke raise his other hand to her shoulder and pull her to a stop.
"I'm sure Fizz made it to one of the islands," he said astutely.
His body was so warm and inviting at her back that she was tempted to turn around, fall into his arms, and let go of everything she had bottled up.
Micki caught back a shaky breath, glad Luke couldn't see how close she was to tears. Anyway, who was he to offer sympathy? He had been the one to pull her off Reynolds.
She knew in her head that was unfair, but her heart wailed something else again. "You should have done something, anything, to make them stop and get him."
For a long moment there was only the damning silence and the warmth of his hands on her shoulders. Finally Luke spoke. "I had to make a choice—you or Fizz. There wasn't much chance I was going to do anything to help him by getting involved, and there was a good chance that if I didn't stop you from trying, you were going to get hurt. Or killed. And I couldn't let that happen."
Micki remained silent, fighting back the emotions that wanted to spill free. It made sense, but the reality still threatened to wrench her heart out. She was alive and Fizz was—
"Micki?" Luke's hands gently kneaded her shoulders.
"What?"
"I really do think Fizz made it to an island. He's tough, like his owner. He wouldn't let some piddly puddle like the Gulf of Mexico get the better of him."
"Too right," Micki said hoarsely. Looking up into the darkness, she gulped down some air.
She wanted to believe that, but in her mind's eye all she saw was Fizz's back encompassed by ocean on all sides.
She started forward again, roughly dragging Luke in her wake. It wasn't Luke's fault. Not really. It was the doing of these men who made their living by murder and greed.
"Of course he'll have made it." She wiped something wet from her cheek. "And he'll chew the leg off any one of these blokes if he ever runs across them again."
"You bet."
Including Dirk. Micki found she couldn't voice the thought; she could hardly bear to think it. The blame for Fizz's murder rested with the man who had brought the puppy into her world, the same man she had once thought she loved.
Unexpectedly, her flashlight revealed another choice ahead of them. Their passage branched in two more directions, both leading into unfamiliar darkness. Although her steps slowed as she approached, Micki had not yet focused on the problem. The tears in her eyes made the light dance and blur. Coming to a stop, she felt Luke bump up against her but did not turn.
"Micki?"
"You were right, Luke. About Dirk being guilty. I don't know how I could have been so wrong."
Luke's arms went about her, encompassing her in a hug from behind. "Everybody's wrong sometime." He nuzzled her hair with affection that drew a sense of longing from her despite her tears. "Even me. I thought you were working for Jurgensen, flying his lousy merchandise to Miami. And here you turned out to be a survivalist out to bring The Bad Guys to justice. You can't let the one time you got fooled make you distrust yourself for the rest of your life."
Silently, Micki swept her light over both the openings that confronted her, thinking about choices, thinking about what Luke had just said, and about how closely the two were tied together.
Luke nuzzled her neck, planting what could have been a light kiss on the side of her throat. "There's something I want to tell you."
Drawing a deep breath, she took a determined step away from his touch and the strength he offered. Cold, lonely darkness closed at her back. "Later. Right now, we've got a decision to make. The passage divides into two more paths."
Pilot Error Page 23
