Wings In The Night - Beyond Twilight Part 5

"Who are you?"

"Just call me Kirkland. Did they take Miss Jade?"

"How do you-"

"Miss Jade, she told me there might come some men someday to try and take her. Warned me not to tell a soul about her house out there. And I never did." His tone suggested he thought Ramsey might have.

He couldn't believe this old man knew the truth about Cuyler couldn't imagine her entrusting him with it. "Did she tell you why they would want to?"

"Nope. And I never asked. Ain't my business." He slung the harnesses over his shoulder, absently stroking the heads of the dogs who milled and danced around his legs. "Knew there was trouble, though, soon as I spotted that other plane. Miss Jade's a good woman. Kind of heart. Nursed one o' my dogs after he'd tangled with a wolf. Took care of him as if he'd been her own. Even sat up all night with him, didn't she, Duke?" He ruffled the fur of the dog in question before turning his attention back to Ramsey. "So are you gonna help her?"

Ramsey could only nod mutely.

"Good, then." He walked into the barn and Ramsey followed, watching him hang the harnesses on the wall. A small plane sat like a giant bird at rest, taking up most of the s.p.a.ce. The old man tugged a large, sliding door and Ramsey helped him open it.

"I don't get this. What are you doing up here?" Ramsey followed him, getting into the plane behind him. He ducked his head and settled into the seat beside Kirkland in the c.o.c.kpit.

"Livin', mostly. I fly folks in and out for hunting and such. Transport supplies for the Inuit village a few miles off." He slanted a sideways glance at Ramsey. "Best buckle up. Takeoffs are rough."

"Do you know where they went?"

The old man nodded, but didn't say a word as the engines came to life and the craft rolled slowly out of the barn.

"Where is he?" The man blew his offensive tobacco smoke into her face, and Cuyler turned her head as much as she could. It wasn't much.

She was handcuffed to a chair in what she took to be a bedroom, with three cruel faces watching her every move. Ordinarily she'd have simply snapped free of the cuffs, knocked the men on their arrogant backsides, and made her escape. Unfortunately she'd had the extreme displeasure of proving their newly developed tranquilizer did, indeed, work. She'd been injected just as she'd begun to rouse with the sunset. And now she was as weak as a mortal. A tired mortal. Her mind was murky at best.

Not so murky that she couldn't wonder about Ramsey, though. At first she'd thought he might have been involved in her capture. The relief that filled her when they'd begun asking her for his whereabouts had made her weaker than she already was.

"Miss Jade, don't make us resort to drastic measures." The fat, white-haired man had cruel eyes, like two small blue b.u.t.tons on his face. Emotionless, snake's eyes. "We all know how sensitive your kind is to physical pain. Don't make us hurt you."

When she averted her face, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him. Another gentle puff of smoke in her face. She coughed.

"Tell me where Bachman is."

"I told you already, I don't know what you're talking about. I was alone in the house."

The man-the others called him Fuller-smiled grimly and shook his head. "His suitcase was there. We know he was with you."

"I stole it," she lied. "He'd been hounding me for months. I thought I might find out why if I took his things and went through them." She tried to keep her chin up, defiantly. She forced her sagging spine stiffer. She had to be strong, but she couldn't help but wonder where Ramsey had gone. Maybe the dogs had come early. Maybe he'd found them and run away from her while she'd slept. G.o.d, she hoped that was the case. She'd arranged with old Kirkland to turn the dogs loose on the third day, knowing they'd make a beeline for her home. If Ramsey found them, if he knew how to use them, he'd be okay. They knew the way to Kirkland's hangar as well as they knew each other.

Fuller turned to the thin, dark one. "What do you think of that, Whaley?"

"I think she's lying."

"I'm not." She blinked and tried to think of a way to convince them, but only came up blank. "Why are you after him, anyway? I thought he was one of you."

"So did he-" Whaley began, but his reply was cut off by a swift look from Fuller.

The third man sat in a chair, silent. He didn't appear to have the same stomach for abuse his two colleagues shared.

"You're going to have to tell us, Miss Jade. We can't go back to headquarters without him."

She sagged inwardly. They were taking her there. And if they did, she'd die. She could have called mentally, begged others of her kind to come to her aid. But with this tranquilizer in DPI's a.r.s.enal, any who tried to help her might end up sharing her fate. She didn't want to die with that on her conscience. G.o.d, if only she knew Ramsey was all right.

Fuller's hand disappeared into his pocket. It came out with a big, s.h.i.+ny pair of pliers. He opened and closed their ridged teeth slowly, right in front of her face. Then he handed them to Whaley, who moved around behind her.

"Begin with the little finger of her left hand," Fuller said matter-of-factly. "Crush it."

She felt the cold instrument touch her finger. "Wait! All right. All right, I'll tell you the truth."

The tool moved away from her hand. Fuller looked down at her, smiling grimly. "That's more like it. Where is he?"

Kirkland brought the plane in expertly at a small airport.

"This is it? This is where they landed?"

"Nope."

Ramsey drew a sharp breath and waited. Kirkland had already explained that he'd been able to track the other plane with the sonar equipment back at his hangar. But the guy was a man of few words.

"Landed at Loring, not too far off. Couldn't very well take you to an air force base now, could I?"

Grating his teeth, Ramsey prayed for patience, and time. He kept telling himself that Cuyler was fine. They wouldn't hurt her. But more and more, his own voice of reason sounded like a liar.

Kirkland opened the hatch and Ramsey jumped to the ground. He took a look around, but apart from the runways and hangars and small planes, there was nothing to give him a clue. "Where the h.e.l.l are we, Kirkland?"

"Northern part of Maine."

Northern Maine? Why the h.e.l.l would they bring her here? Why not go straight on to White Plains? He scanned the place, sifting his mind for answers.

"Nearest city's Limestone," Kirkland continued. "Caribou's a little farther. You got any idea where they took her?"

"Limestone?" He almost sagged in relief. DPI had safehouses scattered all over the country, kept them at their agents' disposal. If an operative got into trouble, he could take refuge at one of them. They had security systems like Fort Knox, and direct phone and computer links to headquarters. Like the obedient, devoted agent he'd always been, Ramsey had memorized the addresses of every safehouse in the northeast. There was one just past Limestone.

He didn't know why they'd have taken her there. Capturing her had been their goal, and now that they'd done that, what could they have to gain by delaying their return?

Unless she wasn't their only goal? Maybe there was something else, something here, that they were after.

Ramsey faced the grizzled man beside him. "I need a car."

Chapter Eight.

It was ridiculous to be going about it this way. He worked for DPI. He was one of them. He could punch in the code, walk right through the gates, up to the front door, and demand to see the prisoner.

But something held him back, made him cautious. Crazy, vague suspicions clouded his mind. He'd put them to rest when he saw that she was okay, but until then, he figured he'd be better off erring on the side of caution.

He'd had to argue with Kirkland to get him to stay behind. h.e.l.l, the guy had no idea what he'd be getting into if he came along. DPI was big. Powerful. It was dangerous to get on the wrong side of them. It was bad enough Kirkland was going to make the call.

Vaguely, she heard the phone and the low muttering from beyond the closed bedroom door. Two of the men remained with her. One, the one called Fuller, had gone out to answer it. Seconds later, he returned.

"We've got him."

Whaley rose from where he'd been comfy on the bed. "Bachman?"

Fuller nodded. "That was the hospital in Caribou. Seems Bachman was brought in, unconscious. They found this number on him."

Cuyler bit her lip to keep from gasping. G.o.d, what had happened to Ramsey?

"What the h.e.l.l was he doing in Caribou?" Whaley asked.

"Probably trying to make his way here, to the safehouse. I still think you guys are wrong about him." That was Stiles, the most gentle of the three. "How bad is he?"

"Doesn't look like he'll make it through the night. We'd better get over there."

Pain tore through her heart. Dying? Ramsey was dying? She squeezed her eyes tighter to stop the tears that burned in them.

"What about her?"

Fuller glanced at Stiles, who stood unspeaking in the corner. "Can you handle her?"

The pale man nodded.

"She gets too lively, just give her another shot. We'll call in from the hospital."

She didn't lift her head as the two walked out. Just let it hang. She'd be d.a.m.ned if she'd give them any reason to inject her with more of that awful, debilitating drug.

Ramsey crouched behind a shrub near the gate and waited. Two men came out of the house. Their car started up, headlights came on, and he cringed lower. An electronic hum, a metallic groan, and the gates swung open. The car rolled through, and they began to close again.

He watched the car accelerate as soon as it hit the road. The gates were still closing. Taillights disappeared around a bend, and Ramsey lunged to his feet and dove. The metal sc.r.a.ped his sides as he threw himself in, then banged solidly as his body hit the ground. Closing his eyes, he drew three steadying breaths. Night birds slowly resumed their nightly serenade. A few seconds later, frogs joined in. The wind rustled the trees again. Other than that, Ramsey heard nothing. He got to his feet, brushed himself off, and started toward the house.

The numbered panel beside the door stared at him, the System Armed light glaring like an evil eye. If they'd changed the entry code and he punched in the wrong numbers, an alarm would tell anyone inside of his presence. And he was certain there was still someone inside. They wouldn't leave Cuyler unguarded.

His tongue darted out to moisten dry lips, and he tasted the sweat on his upper lip. There was no other way. If he opened a window or door without entering the code, the alarm would sound anyway. His hand rose slowly, hovering at the panel. He wiggled his fingers, grated his teeth, and entered the four-digit code he'd committed to memory.

The red light blinked out. A green one came on instead.

Ramsey pressed his ear to the door, listening. Only silence came from within. He gripped the k.n.o.b and his hand slipped on its surface when he tried to turn it. Rubbing his palm against his pant leg, he tried again.

The door opened without a creak, and Ramsey ducked inside, closing it quickly and quietly behind him. He didn't hesitate, but went directly to the staircase and up it, straining every cell in his body to be quiet.

At the top, he froze as heavy footsteps sounded. Pressing his back to the wall, he waited and watched. A door opened down the hall. In the muted light he recognized the man who emerged. Ron Stiles. Ramsey had worked with him before. He'd personally thought the guy lacked the grit to be with DPI. Tonight, though, he was secretly relieved the mild-mannered agent was the one guarding Cuyler.

Stiles crossed the hall and ducked into a bathroom, never once glancing Ramsey's way. When the door closed, Ramsey hurried to the room Stiles had exited and slipped inside.

Cuyler sat in a hard chair, her arms pulled severely behind her. Her head leaned forward unnaturally. She wasn't moving, and Ramsey felt his pulse skid to a stop. Dropping to his knees in front of her, he caught her chin and lifted it.

Her eyes were tear-swollen and closed. A vivid purple bruise marred her cheek, and her lower lip was crusted with dried blood. He just stared at her, unable to form words.

Weakly, she tugged her chin away from his hand. "Leave me alone," she murmured. "Please, just leave me alone."

"Cuyler..."

Her eyes opened, but they were unfocused. She stared at him from somewhere behind that drugged haze. "Ramsey?"

The toilet across the hall flushed and a second later steps came toward him. Ramsey fell back a few steps, so he'd be behind the door when it opened. Stiles came inside.

"If you twitch, I'll have to shoot you, Ron." Big words, he thought, for a man with no gun.

Stiles's narrow back stiffened, but he didn't move. His hands rose slowly on either side of his head. "Bachman? I thought you were- "Never mind what you thought." Ramsey came closer, reached around Stiles and took his side arm. "Now get me the key to the handcuffs. Quick." He prodded the man's back with his own gun, glad Stiles had fallen for the bluff.

Stiles nodded hard, dipped into his pants pocket and brought out the key. He held it up, and Ramsey prodded him again. "Get those cuffs off her."

"d.a.m.n."

"Do it!"

Stiles moved slowly around to the back of Cuyler's chair, bent down and unlocked the cuffs. He stood again, dangling them from one crooked finger. "I didn't believe Fuller when he said you'd turn on us." He shook his head. "Guess he was right."

Ramsey moved forward, keeping the gun leveled on his former colleague. "Why did he think that?"

Stiles just shook his head. "I'm not saying any more. Kill me if you have to."

"Okay, if I have to." Ramsey nodded toward the man. "Snap one of those cuffs to your wrist, Stiles." He waited while the other man complied. "Good. Now turn around, hands behind your back. Come on, you know the drill." Stiles turned. "On your knees." When he complied, Ramsey moved quickly to slip one cuff through the foot of the bed, around the frame, and then snapped it around Stiles's other hand.

"You won't get far, Bachman. Fuller and Whaley will be back here just as soon as-"

"Fuller?" Ramsey gave his head a shake, stuffing the automatic into his waistband. Fuller was his immediate superior, a man he'd trusted. And Whaley was the crudest's...o...b.. ever to walk the planet.

Ramsey went around in front of Cuyler again, kneeling. She sat limply, rubbing her wrists. Ramsey's anger grew when he saw the way the cuffs had cut into her flesh. He grew still more angry when she lifted her head to look into his eyes and he saw the pain in hers.

"Which one of you did this to her, Stiles?"

Stiles only glared at him and shook his head.

"And why, for G.o.d's sake? It's pretty obvious the tranquilizer works. Why'd they have to hit her?"

Stiles swore viciously. "She wouldn't tell us where you were. You'd think she was human the way you're carrying on. h.e.l.l, Bachman, she's only one of them. An animal, like the rest." At Ramsey's glare, he lowered his head. "I forgot, though. You are, too, aren't you? Just like them."

"What the h.e.l.l do you mean by that?" Ramsey rose, towering over the man on the floor, his fists opening and closing at his sides.

Stiles clamped his jaw and refused to say another word. Ramsey turned back to Cuyler, bent over her, gripping her shoulders. "Can you stand?"