High Seduction (17 page)

Tim hooked a pulley system over the side struts, attaching one on either side of the door. Ropes were added before he tied Erin in, and then himself.

Final step? Snowshoes. Less fun than skis or snowboards, far more efficient for their needs right now.

Was it only the day before they'd been out playing on the slopes with Matt? Tim shook his head at the unreal sensation.

“Go first, I want to watch your self-belay,” Tim ordered.

Erin nodded, caught hold, then stepped back off the chopper deck. It was only a few feet to the ground, but she did everything right.

“That wasn't so bad.” Erin lifted a thumbs-up at him.

Tim joined her on the ground, testing his balance and the snowpack. “Looks like we've got a nice firm base for walking on. Keep your rope taut, though,” he warned.

Erin's voice over the radio was firm and confident. “You want me to drop over the cliff first?”

“Nope. I want you on the edge, watching me. If I tell you to bug out, you go. Head back to the chopper and get it ready to leave.”

She glared at him but didn't argue, which was good. If he found out the plane was about to explode, he wasn't letting her anywhere near it. If he found any manner of things gone wrong, he'd be ordering her to get her ass out of there as fast as possible.

They waddled their way to the edge, following the hard-packed trail the plane had carved into the frozen surface. Tim stopped them a few feet back to make sure they weren't walking over a cornice, one of the dangerous snow ridges produced by high winds, but the plane had done a good job of removing everything at the edge down to bare rock.

“There's someone,” Erin pointed.

“Two someones. We've got room for how many?”

“Twelve if they need room to spread out, sixteen if it's a short flight, but that size of plane shouldn't have had more than six on her.”

He nodded. “I'm going down.”

It was only a twenty-foot drop, not long enough to get any kind of adrenaline flowing, but he already had plenty of that, stepping into the unknown.

The drop was long enough to look over his shoulder at the couple of men approaching his landing spot. Thick winter coats, snowshoes—they weren't unprepared for the conditions.

He landed on the lower level, detached his rope, and locked the lines in place to use on the upward journey.

“Hello.”

Tim turned and lifted a hand in response to the shout. “I'm Tim—paramedic with Lifeline Search and Rescue. You need some help?”

The men exchanged glances. “Search and rescue? Damn, you got here fast.”

“You just went down?”

“Two hours ago—we think our pilot had a heart attack. We've done what we could, but he's passed out inside the plane.”

Shit. “Okay, let me take a look at him. Anyone else hurt?”

“No. Can you take us out of here?”

“How many are there of you?” Tim asked, stomping forward to examine the plane. “And how is the engine? Any leaks or other dangers to worry about?”

“Except for she's not sitting on a runway, and we have no one to fly her, I think the plane is fine. There are four of us.”

Erin's radio crackled in his ear. “Tim? Can I come down yet?”

He responded softly. “One more minute to clear.”

“Roger.”

Tim stomped up to the plane, eyeing the men who had moved to stand on either side of him. “I didn't catch your names.”

“John and Ken.” The shorter of the two gestured. “I'm Ken.”

“I want to check you guys out as well,” Tim commented, “but first, show me where your pilot is.”

He ditched his snowshoes outside the door, then willing hands pulled him onboard as another face was added to the mix. This guy was a lot bigger than the other two, and Tim made sure to put on his least scary expression. “Paramedic. Where's the pilot?”

The man pointed, and Tim hauled his way down the narrow path to where they had the man supported in a nearly reclined chair. He went to work, but first he called Erin.

“Leave your supplies at the chopper and exchange them for a stretcher. Shove it over the cliff, then come on down. We've got three able-bodied and one not so good. Their pilot.”

“Got it,” Erin responded immediately. “Time for me to check the radio for a response from emergency?”

“Matt? Has the radio up there made any noise?”

A short pause—Matt was probably trying to remember how to use his radio. “Oh, no. Nothing but you guys.”

“There's your answer, Erin. The authorities know where we're at, that's all we need right now.”

Tim worked steadily, but one fear had faded after he'd entered the plane. The distinct lack of boxes and bags meant at least they hadn't stumbled upon a group of smugglers. Because getting mixed up in a drug transport situation couldn't end well.

“I need some information,” he called. “Any ID on the pilot? Age, anything else you can tell me? Was he complaining about anything before the crash?”

“Nothing unusual. Said he wasn't feeling well, and the next thing we knew we were way lower than we should be and headed for the ground.” John slipped into the chair next to him. “Just a pilot we hired out of Anchorage. We're headed for a private home outside Seattle.”

“Grab me his ID from up front,” Tim ordered.

John hesitated. “I don't know where it would be.”

“Root around. See what you can find. Trust me, he's not going to be upset with you—I'd like to know if he's got medication somewhere.”

“Don't you usually have a much bigger team to go out on a search and rescue?” Ken asked. “Just one guy, flying all alone?”

Tim paused with his fingers on the victim's pulse, not liking how low the count was. “You caught me coming back from a holiday. I can't imagine how long it would have taken a team to respond to your SOS—you're in a hell of a spot here.”

“There's another person coming down the hillside,” the unnamed third man announced.

“Another part of your team?” Ken snapped. Either he was beginning to freak out now that rescue was happening—some people did that—or Tim had made a horrid mistake.

“That's our chopper pilot. There's one more waiting on the chopper—a good friend of ours. Don't worry, though, we've got plenty of room. Ken, go grab the stretcher from her, and you—what's your name?”

“Red.”

Guy was shaved totally bald. He had either a sense of humour or delusions of grandeur. “Red, stuff the most important things you guys need into a couple of bags—no more—and we'll get you on the chopper and headed home ASAP. John, I need you to help me get the pilot ready for transport.”

Three people headed in three directions. Tim glanced out the window at Erin, who was at the bottom of the slope, securing her ropes together as he'd done. Once this was all over, he owed her a huge dinner and a massage and hell, another damn getaway, just the two of them.

The pilot wasn't responding, his skin gone ashy white. Tim didn't like the looks of it at all. Still, he did what he could.

He clicked on his radio. “Erin, I don't know if Ken reached you yet. If he did, give him the stretcher, then turn around and get the ropes ready for a stretcher lift.”

There was no response.

“Erin?”

He shot to his feet and looked out the window, but there was no sign of her.

Hell.

A body blocked his path as he headed for the door. “Move. I need to check on my partner,” he snapped.

Red stepped aside just far enough to reveal that Ken now stood beside Erin at the back of the plane, one hand clutching her arm, the other holding a gun to her head.

CHAPTER
18

Had she really thought spending more time in the middle of the action was something she wanted? She cursed the gods who obviously had a sense of humour about such things.

Fucked up, stupid, scary world. She'd never had a gun pulled on her before. She didn't like it one bit.

At the opposite end of the small plane, Tim lifted his hands carefully in the air. “Don't hurt her,” Tim ordered. “She's your only ticket out of here.”

“Agreed. I thought you were the pilot, but since you're not . . .” Ken tossed her radio headset to the ground, then nodded toward the front of the plane. “John, take care of him.”

Erin drew in a quick gasp as John pulled out a gun and casually pointed it at Tim.

“Oh my God,
no
. Don't, or I won't fly you anywhere.” Erin struggled to get free. “I mean it, hurt him and I'll damn well leave you to freeze.”

“Gutsy.” Ken jerked her again like he had when he'd come up to her and surprised her, snapping off her headset before she could get out a call for help to Tim. “Fine. Don't shoot Tim. But we need to get out of here before anyone else shows up. Get rid of the baggage, John.”

John tilted the gun slightly lower, adjusting the angle before he pulled the trigger. The body resting in the chair beside Tim jerked, and Erin screamed involuntarily, her hands flying up to cover her face.

Tim shouted as well, reaching down to cover the blood welling up. “Dammit, that wasn't—”

He slammed his mouth shut and pulled his hands back as John once again turned the deadly barrel toward him. “Keep your mouth shut, and we'll let you live. Since she's so keen on it.”

“Red, get our things. Tim, Erin. Lead the way. And you know better than to do anything stupid.” Ken stepped aside, allowing Erin access to the exit.

She glanced across the distance separating her and Tim and wondered how their world had turned so rapidly from the twenty-four hours before. Her gaze drifted to the body at his side, the signs of death growing as the man no longer stirred, and something went numb inside her.

Whatever she and Tim had stumbled onto, these men were willing to kill to avoid getting caught. Being kidnapped was a far better option at this point.

“We'll go along peacefully,” Tim promised. “There's no need to hurt anyone else. Let me see the pilot again—”

John pushed him toward the door. “He's deadweight. Move now, or you'll join him.”

Tim turned reluctantly, a sound of pain escaping him. But he hurried down to her and ushered her out the door. “Nothing fancy—no attempts at being a hero,” he cautioned as they hooked on their snowshoes.

“You, too.” She snuck in a quick squeeze to his arm, glancing over her shoulder as the other men crawled out of the plane, following after them too close for even quiet conversation. She had to risk one word, though. “Matt?”

“Working on it.”

The three men didn't have much with them. Not other than their obvious desire to not be near the plane when any authorities arrived. Erin plotted ways to get a message out, but the entire time they traveled to the chopper she had one or another of the guys at her side.

She was worried sick their crash victims were going to shoot either Tim or Matt, and there seemed to be nothing she could do. Tim seemed to have gotten in some muttered conversation time with his friend, but the crisis situation only increased by the minute.

It took puzzle-solving skill to get all five of them up the short distance to the same level as the chopper, none of them wanting to be the last, not wanting Tim and Erin left alone without someone at their side to ensure good behavior.

“I need to get the chopper warmed up,” she warned. “I can't hop in and turn it on like a car.”

“You'll wait until I'm there to watch you,” Ken warned. “You'll have time once we've got your friends in position.”

That didn't sound good at all. Erin met Tim's eyes again, and the bastard actually winked, probably attempting to give her what assurance he could.

Only there were no guarantees he could make right now. There was only dealing with one moment to the next. Belaying up the hill, crossing the distance to the chopper, and stripping off unneeded gear.

Tim stopped before opening the door. “In case you were thinking of shooting our friend, don't. He told me to mention he's worth a mint. You can easily make some money if you treat him well.”

“Thanks for the information.” Ken laughed. “Good friends like you are hard to find. Now tell him to sit down and hold his hands in the air where we can see them.”

“Matt?” Tim spoke into the headset. “Company coming aboard. Sit down and don't try anything. Hold your hands up, and trust me.”

Ken ripped the headset from Tim and dropped it into the snow. “You won't be needing that anymore.”

The door opened slowly, and Erin held her breath, bracing herself for the report of a gun. Fearful of it coming, afraid there was no way to avoid it.

Instead she watched as Red climbed aboard and closed in on Matt.

Tim's friend was obediently seated, hands toward the ceiling. His eyes were wide with fear, but he said nothing as his hands were shoved to his sides and Red pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket.

A hard shove hit between her shoulder blades. “Get this chopper moving,” Ken ordered.

She crawled in and hurried toward the front, only to be jerked to a stop, Ken pulling her nearly off her feet.

“Your friends don't have to stay in good condition,” he warned. “If you try anything, and I mean anything I think looks wrong, they're going to get hurt. Don't call anyone, don't answer anything—”

His message was clear. “I got it. Do you know anything about flying, though? I have to do lot of things that might look suspicious, but they're—”

“Explain, or don't do them.” Ken motioned her forward. “Get going.”

She was in her seat, glancing back to make sure they were doing as they'd promised and keeping the guys safe. “Lock everything down,” she called, snapping to a halt as Ken raised a hand above her.

“Don't talk to them. Tell me what needs to be done, and I'll decide if I pass it on.”

“It's just normal takeoff procedure,” she explained. “Tying things down, making sure they're secure so if we hit turbulence there's nothing flying around inside the cockpit with us.”

“Get this thing going.” Ken twisted to the back. “John, watch Tim—tell him to do the normal things to get ready to fly.”

There was always a buzz of excitement that accompanied the slow speeding of the props. Now for the first time there was also dread. As she went through start-up, Erin's fears grew. She couldn't see a way out of this without someone getting hurt, and if she was the one who made a wrong decision that led to Tim or Matt being injured or killed, she didn't know how she'd survive.

It was one time she really didn't want to be in control.

The one time she had absolutely no choice.

She glanced into the back. Tim must have finished putting things in place. John had taken a second roll of duct tape and was lashing Tim to another chair as far from Matt as possible. With their wrists pinned to the chairs, there wasn't much that either of them could do to deal with the three men moving freely around the cabin. Erin struggled for the next idea.

“Ken, I need to put on my headset. I need to listen to my instrument panel . . . some of the signals I use to fly are auditory. And I need to know where you want to go, so I can calculate if I have enough fuel.”

He pulled out a paper. “That's what we gave the other pilot. It's a private airstrip, so you don't need to contact anyone to land. And no, you can't wear your headset.”

Dammit. Options were fading fast. The rotors were at nearly full speed now, and the volume loud enough to deafen everyone. She checked the coordinates she'd been given and punched the data into her navigator. Then she ignored the fact that she had three unwanted guests and took off without any further warning.

If they got bumped around, so be it.

And then the damn gun came back to mind, and she stifled her instinct to send them into a wild tailspin. She might be okay with the resulting loss of balance, and Tim would be okay, especially since he was locked down. Matt would probably get sick, but that would be fine if it meant they were safe.

But that gun changed things. She headed south, leaving behind the remains of the plane and a man who was dead or dying. Their proven willingness to use violence was far too strong an incentive to follow her captors' orders.

* * *

Tim had given up trying to guess what came next. Locked in position, he could do nothing but hope his next breath wasn't his last. As far as he could tell from his position in the center of the hold, Erin did nothing but take them in a straight line to the private field.

There'd been a second when he wondered if she was going to try something, but a glance over her shoulder had her stopping as soon as she spotted the gun John held pointed in his direction.

He wasn't even sure what he would tell her to try.

The glimpses he had out the window showed they were passing out of the Rockies and into the lowlands, closing in on the U.S.-Canada border, the thin thread of a river widening into a long stretch of lake that Erin followed for a good fifteen minutes.

Sure enough, the no-touching zone appeared ahead, the swatch of trees cut in a nearly straight line the entire length of the forty-ninth parallel. They were almost out of Canada. There were no major roads visible. No communities.

Little chance they would be spotted and reported to curious border authorities.

Ten minutes past the border, a small clearing in the trees appeared. They were high in the mountains again, this time the less rugged and more rounded Columbia ranges that were common along the BC-Washington or Idaho line. Erin let them down, the pressure and noise in her ears dying away, but a low ringing remaining.

Erin was escorted to the door, where she jerked off Ken's grasp on her. “I'm not going anywhere without the guys.”

“They're coming with us. Insurance for your continued good behavior.”

“You have no reason to hurt any of us—” Erin started.

“Shut up. We'll put you somewhere safe.”

The duct tape was cut away, freeing Tim's wrists from the chair. Before he could even think about making a move, a new set was applied, locking his hands in front of him and leaving him a lot more helpless than he wished. On the opposite side of the plane he caught glimpses of Matt being given the same treatment.

Then Matt disappeared, led away by Red. John held Tim in place at the side of the field as Erin worked alone to refuel. “It would go faster if I helped her,” he offered.

The man at his side shook his head, crossing his arms as he looked around the ranch area. “No rush. We're not leaving anytime soon.”

And then he closed his mouth and didn't say anything else.

Frustration, fear—Tim had it all. They'd killed a man already. What reason could they have for keeping any of them alive once they were no longer useful? Matt's insistence at being offered up as a hostage had been a necessary evil, but even that didn't provide insurance for either Erin or himself.

Red emerged from the cabin where he'd disappeared, wood smoke curling from the chimney. He was alone, and Tim's stomach flipped with worry.

“Where's Matt?”

“He's safe. If he is who he says he is, we'll treat him well.”

It was the longest time before Ken escorted Erin across the field. An icy chill was settling into Tim's limbs from the lack of movement and the tight tape around his wrists.

Erin met his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Ken pushed Erin toward the small metal shed beside the cabin. “In you go.”

“Tim—”

“Is going with you.”

The short glimpse of light while the door was open showed that there was nothing much in the place but a couple of barrels. Tim shuffled forward awkwardly, uncertainty rising again, but the fact that they were together was good.

Good yet still terrifying. Matt wasn't with them, and they only had the word of killers that his friend would stay safe.

If he could have turned back the clock and never offered the suggestion of the getaway, he would in a second.

The door closing them into the small shed didn't help.

After the past hours of high-volume noise, his ears rang with imagined sound. Still, both he and Erin stood silently for a moment, straining to hear footsteps moving away. Listening for some sign they were really alone.

The cabin door slammed—which was no assurance, but was probably the best they could expect. Tim turned toward where Erin stood, thin lines of daylight sneaking in through cracks near the ceiling.

“Oh, God.” Erin shook violently, then reached for him. “Let me take the tape off you.”