Pilot Error (33 page)

If Luke heard the sharpness in her tone he showed no sign. "If the way looks level, you might want to consider using the light sparingly. We don't know how long we're going to need it so we should save the battery."

"Okay," she agreed, unwillingly.

The path ahead seemed fairly smooth, at least for the short distance her flashlight revealed. But when she clicked it off, she froze. Absolute darkness swooped in to claim them as if it had been only awaiting the opportunity.

Death seemed just a step away. Even though her flashlight had shown her several yards of unobstructed passage, she felt as if a yawning chasm had suddenly opened before her feet. The sensation was so strong that she flicked the flashlight on again to assure herself the way was still clear.

The same level path greeted her eyes.

"Something wrong?"

She could do this—cover the few yards she had already assured herself to be safe, click the light on to scout the next steps, then repeat the action. Determined, she again made herself sacrifice the security of the light. "No, there's nothing wrong. Come on."

Slowly, Micki took one step into the black nothingness. Luke moved with her without hesitation. He trusted her, and somehow that gave her the courage to trust herself.

***

He was pushed in backwards, protesting, and the door was quickly closed and locked in his face. With a snarl of frustrated rage, Dirk slammed a fist against the polished wood. He had too many things to do to be cooling his heels. He had to find Micki. God knew what Van Allen might do if he found her first.

When there was no reaction from behind the door, he gave it up. Shouting obscenities at his boss's personal bodyguards was only going to make the whole situation more awkward when he finally got this mess straightened out and Micki brought back to her senses. It was going to take some fancy footwork to bring her back in line and smooth things over with Van Allen, but it could be done.

Turning, Dirk froze at the sight before him. The beautiful room he had spend weeks preparing for the love of his life was in total shambles. Disbelieving, he moved slowly into the mess, numbly picking up expensive garments at random. How could Micki have done this? So she was angry, he had expected that, but she should have been past it by now. Maybe her flight with Hardigan was more than the last fling of defiance that he had believed?

A muscle jumped in his jaw, as his fury warred with his fear for her. He scooped up the white negligee he had given her after their first night together. Even this she had flung onto the floor. Sitting on the bed, Dirk crushed the silky material to his cheek and closed his eyes.

Surely Micki must have recognized this piece of lingerie. She had kept it in her bedroom drawer at the trailer even though she refused to wear it, but now she had tossed it to the floor as if it were a worthless rag. Is that all it meant to her now? Is that all he meant to her?

Outside, the sound of powerful outboard motors caught his attention and drew him to the French windows. It was nearly dark and the question of who would be leaving the marina now was a mystery.

Two boats were speeding away from Van Allen's private dock while more men sprinted toward waiting vessels. Dirk watched for several moments as they also left in haste. During that time, activity about the half-built gazebo, which had halted for the day, picked up again. In the twilight it was hard to see what they were doing, but the commotion increased the growing sickness in Dirk's chest. Whatever was going on, it certainly didn't bode well for Micki. What was Van Allen up to now?

As if the thought of his boss had conjured him up, Dirk heard the genteel British voice in the hall. There was the sweep of a key card through the lock, and then the door swung open to reveal his employer. At the sight of him, Dirk's fear for Micki escalated to the point where it threatened to strangle him. The impeccable Mr. Van Allen's tie was askew and his hair was rumpled, and that realization frightened Dirk more than the look of ice cold rage in the man's eyes.

Striding into the room, Van Allen's gaze traveled contemptuously over the strewn clothing. Stopping, he plucked a familiar looking hot-pink leather cover—opened book-like and face down—from the silk and satin on the floor. Van Allen distastefully held the tablet PC up by one corner, and Dirk was not surprised to see that the beautiful 10" touch screen had been shattered by a single, angry blow. Judging from the spider web pattern radiating out from the central hole in the glass, it was clear that Micki had, fittingly, rebelled using a stiletto heel as her weapon of choice.

"It appears your little love nest has not been well received, Dirk," Van Allen observed unsympathetically. He dropped the broken tablet back into the mess.

Anxious, Dirk missed the barb. Physical possessions could be replaced. Micki could not. "Did you find her? Can I—"

His employer cut him off with a sharp sweep of his hand. "It's over and done, my friend."

"What's that mean?"

"It means Miss Jacinto is no longer any of your concern."

"But—"

"Enough!" Van Allen's voice was like the crack of a whip. "There are plenty of other skirts in the world. It's time you start thinking with your brain and not—"

Dirk's eyes widened. His boss sounded like Reynolds, rather than the cultured gentleman's image he had always presented to the world. He sounded, Dirk thought in icy terror, cold-blooded enough to have already killed her.

Van Allen restrained his hostility with a visible effort. Turning sharply, he strode to the vanity that Micki had left jumbled with discarded cosmetics, and straightened his ascot with angry, brutal movements.

"There has been quite enough upheaval in this household for one evening," Van Allen said, the simple act of grooming helping to restore the aristocratic illusion.

Again seeing the reality beneath the façade, Dirk forced his fears out in monotone. "What have you done with Micki?"

Van Allen's gaze flicked toward him in the mirror, but he did not answer until he had smoothed his hair back into an acceptable imitation of his usual immaculate style. His words, however, did not match his civilized appearance. "She's dead. Forget her, or you will be as well."

The information hit Dirk like a blow to the stomach. He sank onto the bed. "You killed her?"

Van Allen turned. "I do not like to repeat myself, Dirk. She's no longer a threat to us. Nor is Hardigan. The only question that remains is, what do I do with you?"

Sick with grief, Dirk lifted his eyes to his employer. "But I loved her."

Van Allen made a snort of disbelief. "If you loved her then you never would have brought her here against her will." He moved away as if disgusted by the conversation. "I'm giving you the luxury of a night to deal with that and to come back to your senses. You've made me a good deal of money in the past, Dirk, and you can make me a great deal more, if you put this unpleasant episode behind you and show me that you can return to your duties effectively. If you can not—" he paused at the door, and this time none of his brutality was camouflaged by the genteel exterior "—then you can join your folly for eternity in the caves below my compound."

Knocking firmly on the door to call the guard, Van Allen threw one final glance over his shoulder.

"And I remind you, Jurgensen, that if you think to fool me tomorrow with false assurance and then flee in a misguided attempt to avenge her, any investigation of my activities will result in an equally detailed one of yours." The door opened at his back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my dinner is getting cold."

That said, he moved out into the hallway, leaving Dirk to stare, grief-stricken, at the white negligee he still held. Of all that Van Allen had said, only a small portion of it had any meaning.

Micki was dead.

The door closed and locked, the sound a sharp punctuation to the thought. Slowly, Dirk pushed himself up from the bed and went to stare out the window, with its dancing sheer curtains and balmy sea breeze. Night had fallen, changing the colors but not the scene. The men who had swarmed about the unfinished gazebo were gone, as if they had found what they wanted and left, but the boats still moved busily along the shore.

Unaware of anything but the aching wail that filled his chest, Dirk pressed the white silk to his cheek and watched the slow pattern of their running lights hover like unblinking red and green fireflies over a black, lifeless ocean.

The woman he loved was dead, and he had killed her.

***

Unfortunately, Micki's choice of passages led back to the cleft where she and Luke first entered the caverns. There, mysterious sounds of digging and the sharp ring of metal on rock from the narrow fissure had quickly sent them on their way again. Originally they had been presented with three possible paths, and in hindsight it was evident that the left hand one simply went in a twisting, turning circle. Without wasting time discussing it, Micki resolutely took them down the middle passage.

Hours later, with no indication that they were any nearer an exit this time, the beam of the flashlight began to pale. Both things worried Micki more than she dared admit. Desperate to conserve the dying light for as long as possible, she tried to stretch their progress in the dark for longer and longer intervals, not wanting to think how she would handle it when she flicked the toggle switch a final time and nothing happened. Then the dark would be all they had left... and that worried her even more.

It was that fear which sent her edging along in the blackness for longer than she should have, and as a result her luck eventually ran out. From one cautious step to the next, she tripped on an irregularity, stubbing her bare toe and unable to catch herself.

Micki went down hard, the jolt sending the flashlight flying from her hand. It happened so quickly that she had scarcely registered the fall when Luke, dragged off balance, fell heavily on top of her. The impact knocked what breath was left in her lungs from her, and for a terrible eternity she struggled to breathe and found she could not.

"Micki?" Luke's weight left her. "You okay?"

Strong hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her to sitting. Fighting to breathe, she slowly became aware that both hands stung like fire and her chest hurt like hell where her ribs had impacted solid rock. In the total blackness of the cave, the shock of taking a fall into dangers she could not see had triggered a shaking reaction she couldn't control.

"Sweetheart?" She felt Luke's breath against her cheek, his hands caressing her face and then sweeping down over her body in concern. "Does anything hurt?"

Finally able to draw the first real breath since the fall, Micki used it to rasp, "Don't call me that."

Luke's chuckle was very near, and she felt a light pressure as if he rested his forehead against hers for a moment. "At least your disposition is still intact."

Not having the breath for a decent snort, she settled for a small one, though it sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. When his light examination of her arms moved down to her legs, Micki shoved his hands away. While clad only in the black slip of a dress, the touch felt much too intimate.

"Watch your hands, Yank," she warned, wishing it sounded a bit more vehement. "Or you're going to lose them."

"I was just checking to be sure you didn't break anything." She could practically see the feigned look of wounded innocence on his face despite the blackness that held them in its grip.

"I'm fine." Micki tried to push herself upright and convince her body it was true, but her legs gave way and she was humiliated by the necessity to sink back down.

"Micki?"

She could hear the real concern in his voice and was forced to answer it honestly. "I'm okay. Just a little shaky."

"It'll pass." She sensed movement as Luke sat beside her. "Sit here a minute and get your sea legs back."

Drawing another breath, she got another scare. "The torch! Luke, I dropped the tor—the flashlight!"

"I'll see if I can find it."

Instinctively, she caught at him, frightened to let him move out of her reach. Just as quickly, she withdrew the hand, but it seemed he understood all the same.

"I won't go far," he told her, squeezing her knee in reassurance. "I didn't hear it roll. It should be close."

Micki stifled a whimper, a sound much too small against the immensity of the darkness that pressed in about her. She could hear the soft brush of his hands and the swish of his camo pants as he crawled away into the unlit emptiness. It seemed forever until she heard the clink of metal and his triumphant cry.

"Got it!"

Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, Micki closed her eyes and found it didn't make any difference. The darkness was too deep to tell if her eyes were open or closed. Squeezing them shut and praying desperately that they weren't given to the darkness for good, she asked anxiously, "Does it still work?"

In the pause that followed, she felt her panic threaten to overwhelm her. What if it was broken?

"You check it," came the quiet answer, along with the soft sounds of Luke moving back to her side. He pushed the cold metal into her hand. "Here."

Opening her eyes, Micki pushed at the toggle, and was rewarded with light that was pale but immensely welcome against the horror of total blackness. "It works," she breathed in relief. "It still works."