life had thrown her.
HE WATCHED her shoulder the heavy pack and then adjust both padded straps, working with the intense focus of someone used to carrying heavy weight well into the pain zone.
The woman clearly knew what she was doing, Dakota thought, slouched out of sight inside a dusty delivery truck parked up the road from the inn. The bug in her backpack was working perfectly, allowing him clear access to every word she said. So far she’d made no slips. Her conversation with her climbing partner had been full of good-natured bantering and reminiscences of earlier climbs.
No talk of art theft or organized terrorist activities, the Navy SEAL thought cynically.
His orders were absolutely clear. Close surveillance and assessment of all contacts made by Nell MacInnes. She’d done something to land on the government’s highest priority watch list.
Better than anyone, Dakota Smith knew that SEALs didn’t get called up for aimless threats. Nell MacInnes was up to her slender neck in trouble.
With or without her father’s help, she was suspected of participating in the theft of one of the most valuable pieces of art ever to enter the National Gallery. Dakota’s job was to find out who she was working with and locate the stolen Renaissance masterpiece before it vanished forever, traded through a shadow network of international criminals, sold to finance the activities of an elusive terrorist group active on American soil.
The SEAL’s eyes narrowed on the woman’s back as she climbed into a battered Land Rover, accompanied by the head of the local search-and-rescue volunteer team. Dakota wondered what made her tick, what drove her back out into a pounding storm after six days of strenuous climbing. He doubted it was simple selflessness. No, he figured that Nell MacInnes enjoyed walking on the edge, tasting danger. She looked like a classic thrill seeker, which would also explain her involvement in a complicated, high-stakes robbery.
Not greed. She didn’t drive a late-model Maserati or own a string of houses. Her apartment back in San Francisco was neat but small, and her only hobby appeared to be climbing. Yet appearances could be the most unreliable thing in the world, Dakota knew.
Still, he wondered about that brief note of resignation he’d heard in Nell’s voice back at the pub. The confidence had faded, along with the high energy, and she had sounded tired and worried, as if she genuinely cared about the missing climbers.
Forget about the target’s emotions, a voice warned flatly as Dakota pulled onto the road, following the Land Rover at a careful distance. He’d track her up the brooding slopes of Blaven and make certain she came down in one piece. But he’d break his cover to save the other climbers only if it was absolutely necessary, mindful of his orders to stay well under the radar until all Nell MacInnes’s shadowy contacts were bagged and tagged. The mission came first.
Always.
After parking down the slope from the small trailhead, Dakota pulled on an all-weather parka and a fully stocked backpack, then fingered his shortwave radio. His contact would be waiting for an update. “Teague, are you there?”
“Yo.” Izzy Teague’s voice was clear, despite an edge of static. “I’ve got the topo map on the screen in front of me. I checked with SAR and got the coordinates. You’ll have a straight ascent for an hour, followed by a fairly strenuous climb through shifting rock when you near the south face. A chopper is on its way over from the mainland, but the weather may prevent a landing until tomorrow.”
“So I’m on my own,” Dakota said calmly. “Fine with me. I don’t need anyone slowing me down or asking questions.”
“Watch out for yetis up there,” Izzy said wryly. “I’ll keep a bottle of Glenlivet on ice for you.”
“You do that. Alpha out.”
The dark face of Blaven was veiled in clouds as Nell set off up the rocky trail. The Land Rover headed down to the inn. The first wet flakes of gale-driven snow lashed at Dakota’s face as he started up toward Blaven’s brooding darkness, Nell already out of sight before him.
FOR SOME REASON she couldn’t shake the sense that she was being followed. For the third time Nell stopped, peering through fingers of clouds, looking for other climbers behind her.
Only rocky slopes met her sharp scrutiny.
Of course you’re alone, idiot. Any climbers with good sense are inside huddled before a roaring fire right now.
But a climber didn’t turn away in an emergency. Rules of the road.
Rules of life, too.
Turning back into the cutting wind, Nell nursed her aching right knee and chose each step, careful not to trigger a slide in the loose rock. Her face was cold, wet from the wind driving up from the sea. She estimated she’d reach the missing climbers’ last coordinates in another twenty minutes. If the weather didn’t shift, she could begin guiding them down off the peak immediately.
But Nell was prepared for a dozen unknown variables from shattered morale to shattered ankles. Any one of them could hamper a fast descent.
No point tilting at windmills, MacInnes. Every rescue was different, so she’d tackle each obstacle as it appeared. She eased her pack lower on her shoulders, trying to stay loose.
Once again she was struck by the twitchy feeling that someone was down the slope in shadow.
Watching her.
Blaven face.
One hour before sunset.
WIND RAKED Dakota’s neck.
Icy rain howled over the cliff overlooking the restless Sea of Hebrides.
Visibility was down to zero and already the storm was driving intermittent gusts of nearly sixty miles per hour.
Over the slope Nell MacInnes had made contact with the frightened climbers. Thanks to the howl of the wind, Dakota could only pick up one word in three, but from what he heard, Nell was dealing with the rescue quickly and by the book.
She assessed injuries, boosted morale and passed out dry trail rations and chocolate, then radioed down to the SAR leader to have transport with a medical team waiting at the foot of the mountain. The climbers were teenagers from an international school in London, and their leader, a burly ex-naval officer from Brighton, was clearly out of his element. Why he had tried the ascent was still unclear, but Dakota knew the speed of weather changes on Skye could take anyone by surprise.
He fingered his transmitter. “Alpha to Teague.”
Instantly static crackled. “Pizza to go. What can I get you, Alpha?”
“I figure a large cheese with double pepperoni is out,” Dakota said dryly. “So I’ll settle for backup medical response at the lower trailhead. One girl up here has full-blown asthma with signs of respiratory distress.”
“Roger that. I’ll wander on by to help and make sure it looks like a coincidence. What about the other climbers?”
“There are seven in all, plus their leader, Ian Westlake. He might have had a heart attack. He’s holding on, but he’s no help to anyone. Nell’s about to try guiding the able ones down and I’m going to meet her on the slope to help out.”
