Morgan's Son (29 page)

Sniffing, Sabra said brokenly, "I don't know. I don't know to this day. I just carry this awful pain around in my heart. I feel guilty in a way, Craig. I never took him seriously."

"He didn't take you seriously, did he?"

"Well…no, but Josh was like that with everyone."

"You never knew when he was being real or joking."

"Y-yes, I guess that's the bottom line." Sniffing again, Sabra moved over to the bedstand and got a tissue. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

Craig studied her in the silence as she turned toward him, her eyes bright with hurt. "How long ago did this happen?"

"Five years ago."

"And you still carry him in your heart. I think you loved him, don't you?"

She sighed and walked up to Craig. "If I did, it went unfulfilled."

"He was probably scared to death to tell you seriously that he loved you," Craig said. "Maybe joking was the only was he dared say it. Those words are a big step for most men. Especially if they're afraid of responsibility."

"The responsibility of loving me?"

"Could have been. I've known some men who were so afraid of fearing their feelings weren't returned, they never said said anything at all to the woman they wanted most."

"I see." Miserably, Sabra sighed. "I just felt gutted by it, Craig. I must have cried half a year away after that."

"Then you loved him." He shook his head. "He was never intimate with you?"

She shook her head. "No…just a stolen kiss every now and then, that was all."

His throat tightened. "I'm sorry." And he was. He could see the pain in her ravaged eyes. "My mom always said it was better to love and lose than never love at all. I guess, in a way, you know that better than most of us."

"Over the years, I came to the conclusion that if Josh did love me, he was afraid to get serious. For a while, I was so angry at him. Looking back on it now, though, I can see that I wasn't so stellar in our on-again, off-again relationship, either. One day I thought he loved me, the next, I knew he didn't. I didn't have the guts to confront
him
on it, either, Craig."

Craig walked over to her and dropped a light kiss on her cheek. "How has what happened with Josh affected your relationships since then?" It was an important question to ask. Did Sabra think he didn't have the guts the guts to level with her?
Was
he afraid to tell her how he felt? Hell, he wasn't sure what he felt. Maybe he was like Josh. Still, what was most important now was their safety. The mission came first.

Sabra glanced up at Craig's darkened features, then back down at the floor. "I question every man's intent toward me," she admitted. "I shouldn't think they're Josh David in disguise. The first two years, I was afraid of getting involved with a man again, for fear of reading him the wrong way. When I did have a relationship, I misread it anyway." She waved her hand helplessly. "I was never any good at it, I guess."

"I found out the hard way about talking, Sabra." He saw her lift her chin, saw the wounded look in her eyes. "Not that I have all the answers. I don't." He opened his hands. "Over the years, I've had relationships. The woman I wanted to marry, I screwed up on. At that time I was pretty typical of most guys. I didn't know how to communicate. How to talk. Michelle eventually left me because I couldn't get to my feelings, or share them." He smiled sourly. "That was before the crash."

"And since then?"

Craig shrugged and said, "I've stayed away from women for the most part, because I knew what it would mean to open up. That scared the hell out of me. I was worried I'd punch a woman in the face if she slept with me, or hurt her in a million other ways. I didn't dare talk to anyone about what had happened. I was too ashamed, too raw from it, I guess."

She gave him a look of awe. "But you were able to—"

"You're different," he rasped. "For whatever that's worth, Sabra, you're different." The need to tell her about the chaos of feelings she aroused in him was nearly overwhelming. Though he wasn't a joker like Josh, Craig could see the lasting damage she'd suffered from the pilot's way of handling the situation.

Craig noticed immediately the hope spring into Sabra's eyes. Her lips parted softly, and all he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and love the hell out of her—love the questions out of her eyes. He wanted to convince her that he wasn't pulling a trick on her as Josh had. But was he? Craig was sure the Israeli pilot had loved Sabra. The man had no doubt also been afraid of commitment, or he'd have met Sabra as an equal and told her the truth of his feelings.

"Let's get this show on the road," Craig said abruptly. "We've got a lot to do in preparation for tonight. We're a good team. We know how to work with each other." He saw Sabra's face reflect the hurt of his sudden brusqueness. "Let's use what we have to keep us alive and try to find that little boy," he reminded her a little more gently.

Sabra felt a cramp beginning in her right lower leg, so she slowly moved from her position near Craig. It was around 2:00 a.m., and they lay undetected on the steep hillside near Garcia's estate, surrounded by thick vegetation. Wearing the night goggles they'd luckily carried in the camera bag, she could see the comings and goings of the guards near the empty helicopter pad. She and Craig had been timing the guards' movements and watching for Jason since nightfall.

Haleakala loomed far above them. Everything appeared yellow-green through the goggles. Sabra moved slowly, not making a sound. She saw Craig glance at her, a question in his eyes. Holding up her hand in a sign that she was all right, she moved to a kneeling position. To her left, Sabra saw fog forming higher on the slopes of the inactive volcano. Slowly, the white mist thickened and began to move silently down toward Kula.

They were surrounded by the darkened shapes of eucalyptus trees. Earlier, they'd rented another car, found an out-of-the-way motel and changed. The stretchy black nylon was perfect cover in the darkness, but it wasn't very warm, and the early morning chill made her teeth chatter.

Luckily, they had been able to contact Perseus in the late afternoon, report in and find out that the Learjet was grounded for repairs in
Los Angeles
. One of the engines had sucked up a flying bird as it came in for a landing at the
Orange
County
Airport
, and Killian was stuck with the plane on the mainland for at least another twenty-four hours.

Sabra knew she couldn't talk to Craig. Garcia might have sensitive equipment placed along the fence to detect human voices as much as a mile away. They were within half a mile of his estate, having come around the mountainous side this time, under cover of darkness. Thus far, no one seemed aware of their presence, but that didn't mean much.

She stretched her right leg out and, with her fingers, deeply massaged the cramping calf. Out of the darkness, she heard the
whap, whap, whap
of a helicopter's blades. Turning slowly, she looked up into the night sky. Where? Yes, she saw a darkened shape coming from offshore, its red and green running lights highly visible through the night goggles.

Sabra felt Craig's hand come to rest on her shoulder and squeeze, to let her know he heard the aircraft, too. Garcia's helicopter wasn't on the landing pad at his estate. Could this be his aircraft coming in? Rising slowly to her knees, she watched, her heart picking up in beat.

The whapping of the blades grew stronger and louder upon approach, and Sabra realized it
was
Garcia's aircraft as it swung widely above the estate before hovering and then slowly descending to the concrete landing pad below. She hunkered down, watching. Lights suddenly flooded the landing area. Jerking off the night goggles, she grabbed for the binoculars and pressed them to her eyes. In the wash of bright light, Sabra saw the passenger side as the aircraft landed. Her pulse bounded. It was Garcia! As the helicopter stopped, the blades whirling lazily, a guard ran around to open his door.

Garcia climbed out. She held her breath. Someone else was there. Sabra nearly stood up. Her hands bit into the binoculars as she saw Garcia hold out his hand to a smaller person. Jason? As the boy grasped the man's hand, she saw Jason's face for the first time. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, and she became aware of Craig's heavier breathing next to her. He saw him, too.

Sabra's mouth went dry as she watched Jason climb unsteadily out of the helicopter. Garcia picked him up, laughing, and turned and walked into the estate, a guard following them. The door shut.

Sabra lowered the binoculars. Her eyes met Craig's. She saw fear in them, and anxiety. His skin glistened with sweat. It was only then that she realized the sound of the helicopter had triggered his nightmarish memories.

Reaching out, she gripped his hand hard in her own. Sabra could say nothing, so she slid her arm around his shoulders and pressed him against her for a moment, to let him know she cared. There was very little else she could do. She felt his hand tighten around hers, and as she eased back, she read the anguish and turmoil in his eyes. What was the cost to him to sit this close to the helicopter? It was a great sacrifice, Sabra realized belatedly, some of her joy at discovering Jason diminishing.

She saw Craig wrestle with his inner demons. He rubbed the sweat off his face with the back of his gloved hand, his profile hard and resigned. Hurting for him, Sabra stowed the binoculars back in the canvas bag hidden beneath the leaves in front of them. She looked up to see the fog moving swiftly now, covering the lower slopes of the volcano, like a cottony white blanket.

Soon the fog had drifted down to hide them, too. It was damp and wet, and Sabra shivered. The leaves of the surrounding vegetation became purled with moisture. Soon the eucalyptus leaves above them began a steady
drip, drip, drip
as water ran off their surfaces.

Craig made a sign for her to follow him as soon as the outdoor lights around the helicopter had been switched off. The pilot had gone inside, and the landing area was deserted. It was nearly three in the morning. Easing to his feet, crouching behind the foliage, he began to move stealthily toward the estate.

His heart was pounding with fear, and he wrestled wildly with the nightmare of emotions that the aircraft had triggered. But he had to know if Garcia had any kind of detectors—lasers or otherwise—around the fence. The only way to know was to test the defenses. It was risky, and his heart was thudding like a sledgehammer in his chest. Worse, he worried for Sabra's safety. If Garcia had invisible lasers or sound detectors on the fence, they could set of a silent alarm inside the huge estate. In moments, armed guards could arrive, firing in their direction.

His mouth grew dry as he moved soundlessly through the greenery. The fog was an excellent cover and, better yet, might well disclose the light from any laser alarms. At least it was warm moving around. The fog became so dense that he could barely see five feet ahead of him, and he constantly had to refer to the compass strapped to his left wrist, heading toward the no-longer-visible estate.

Craig knelt and gestured for Sabra to come up. Sensing her approach, he glanced over at her. Night goggles were useless in fog, and his hung around his neck, as hers did. He saw the sheen of perspiration on her brow, saw the intensity in her narrowed eyes as she settled close to him. He held up his hand, showing five fingers. They were within five feet of the fence. She nodded, her lips compressing with tension.

Slowly, he got to his feet. He could detect no laser activity as he finally got close enough to see an outline of the wrought-iron fence. With excruciating care, he began to run his gloved hand slowly up the expanse of the first iron rod. It was slippery with moisture, cold to his touch. He made a painstaking search for any wires or other equipment that might be attached to the fence. Finding nothing on the first rod, he gestured to Sabra to test the next one. If they so much as stepped on a branch and it cracked, they could be found out. Despite the chill, sweat trickled down the sides of his face, soaking into the black fabric.

Each wrought-iron rod had to be checked. The fog thickened, eerily muffling all sounds. The minutes dragged by as they continued around the fence and helicopter-landing area. There was a gate at one end of the concrete landing pad, and Craig carefully searched it for wires, but discovered none. Could it be that Garcia had no perimeter defenses? He found that hard to believe. Perhaps the drug dealer felt smugly safe here on the island, Craig thought as he continued to slowly run his fingers up each wrought-iron rod.