she was scared and this was her beloved pet, and logic wasn’t her strongest point just now.
“Please, he’s just a dog,” she said urgently, leaning forward as far as she could belted into her seat, hoping he would hear her over the noise of the flight.
He said something, but so quietly she knew it was meant for the pilot. She held her breath, praying it wasn’t an order to open the door so he could toss the animal to his death.
They kept flying. Quinn lifted the fifty-pound dog easily off his lap. And then, to her amazement, he bent his knees and turned slightly, wedging himself into what had to be a much less comfortable position, and put the dog down on the floor beside him.
He’d moved to make room for Cutter.
Hayley closed her eyes, nearly shaking with relief. She didn’t know what to think, now. It was such a simple thing, but yet so telling.
Maybe.
Maybe he just didn’t want to risk opening the door and tossing the dog out. Or the mess of shooting him. She fought to hang on to the cynical view, knowing it was both the more likely, and safer for her to believe, for Cutter’s sake and her own.
Gradually she became aware that she could see a little better. She cautiously looked around, wondering if Quinn would try to stop her from doing even that. From where she was, thanks to the shade he’d pulled down, she could only look forward. It seemed the sky looked lighter along the horizon there, but without the rest of the sky to compare it with, it was hard to be sure. Quinn, down on the floor with Cutter, who was apparently happy now, was still in darkness. But the fact that she could now see Vicente’s face where he’d been in stark shadow before told her her guess about time was accurate. Dawn was breaking.
She saw Quinn’s head move as he put a hand to the headphones as if listening. She guessed he spoke then to the pilot, or perhaps answered something the pilot had said.
If they’d been headed east there was geography to deal with, and that little problem of the Cascade Mountains. Could a helicopter even go high enough to get over them? Or would it have to fly along the same passes and routes used by men on the ground? She had no idea.
You really don’t know much useful, do you? she thought sourly.
But who would have ever thought she’d need to know how high or fast a scary black helicopter could fly? Just the phrase black helicopter was so laden with images and ideas from books and film that it made clear thinking almost impossible.
Vicente moved slightly, shifted position. For a moment she wished she’d been able to sleep as well as he seemed to have; her weariness just made rational thought even harder. But sleeping under the circumstances, especially with the lethal Quinn—for she had no doubt he could be just that—barely a foot away, was beyond her, even tired as she was. Fear-induced adrenaline was still coursing through her system, and she was jittery with it.
Vicente moved again, then opened his eyes. With the added light, she was able to see him go from sleepiness to awareness to full wakefulness, and he sat up sharply. And when he looked her way, a parade of expressions crossed his face, first surprise, then recognition as he remembered, and then, somewhat mollifying, regret.
It was at that moment she realized they were dropping in altitude. Another refueling stop? Well, this time asking for the bathroom wasn’t going to be a ruse, it was going to be a necessity. And if he didn’t believe her this time—
The sharp pivot of the helicopter interrupted her thought. They were definitely landing. This time she recognized the feeling. And as the direction they were facing changed, she saw indeed the first light of dawn on the horizon.
They touched down even more lightly than last time, so lightly she wasn’t sure they were actually down until Teague began to flip off switches and the sound of the rotors changed as they began to slow.
And then, as she got her first glimpse of their surroundings in the still-gray light of dawn, she wondered if they were here to refuel at all. Because this certainly was no airfield, not even a small, rural one. And there was no sign of a fuel truck.
What there was, was a big, old, ramshackle barn several yards away across an expanse of dirt dotted with low, scraggly-looking brush. A bit beyond that was what appeared to be an old, falling-down windmill. And coming toward them from the barn was a man, dressed in khaki tan pants and a matching shirt that made him hard to see against the tan of the landscape in the faint light. Hayley thought he might be limping, just slightly, but she couldn’t be sure. What she was sure of was the rifle he held. Not a classic, elegant one with a polished wood stock, but an all-black, aggressive thing that looked as if it was out of some alien-invasion movie.
Quinn pulled off the headset, and this time instead of putting it in the empty front seat, hung it on a hook overhead. Did that mean they were here? Wherever “here” was? Was this their destination?
Quinn pulled himself to his feet, dodging the now-alert-and-on-his-paws Cutter. He looked at Vicente, who was now sitting upright, fully awake.
“We’ll have you inside shortly, sir,” Quinn said.
Sir?
Respect, she noted. While she obviously didn’t even rate an acknowledgment, now that they were … wherever they were.
“I really need that bathroom now,” she said.
Quinn glanced at her. Seemed to study her for a moment. She didn’t know what he saw that was different, but he apparently believed her this time.
“It’ll only be a few minutes.” Then his glance shifted to the dog. “He can get out now, though.”
Hayley didn’t quite know how to take that; was it thoughtfulness for the dog, or did Quinn want control of him, so that he could control her?
If that’s his thinking, he’s in for a surprise, Hayley thought. About the first part, anyway; she didn’t think anybody really controlled Cutter.
Quinn got out of the chopper, and she saw him bend and stretch his legs as if they were cramped. They must be, cramming a body she guessed was at least six feet tall into that small space on the floor couldn’t have been easy. Not that she felt sorry for him.
But he had made room for Cutter, despite the cramped quarters. And the dog seemed no less enamored of him this morning than he had been from the moment he’d encountered this dark stranger.
But to his credit, he did hesitate when Quinn held the door open for him. He looked back over his shoulder, his dark eyes fastened on her in a silent appeal for permission. She selfishly wanted to tell him no, wanted him to stay with her, but she knew the sometimes-hyperactive dog was probably about to jump out of his fur after being trapped in this small space for so long. Not to mention he probably needed his much more convenient sort of a bathroom as much as she needed one.
“Go ahead,” she told him, and with a small, happy woof, he leaped from the helicopter to the ground. He looked up at Quinn expectantly. Quinn seemed puzzled, and made a broad gesture toward the open space they were in, as if to tell the dog it was all his now. It was strange how much smaller Cutter looked standing next to the tall man; to her he seemed like a big dog, next to Quinn, more average.
Cutter briefly checked out the surprised newcomer, but despite the aggressive weapon, and unlike with Quinn, after a moment he seemed to find
