To Love and Protect Read online

  "But you didn't get that signal?" Brie asked.

  Niall looked up. Brie's voice was husky and confident. He recalled that alto voice sweeping through him, recalled hearing her cry out in ecstasy as he'd loved her and they'd spun on ever widening wings of pleasure in one another's arms. Stop it. Stop. You can't do this to yourself. Tearing his gaze from Brie's clean profile—her slightly curved nose, high cheekbones and oval face indicating her Native American heritage—he stared down, unseeing, at the manual in his hands. Niall had had no idea how hard it was going to be to remain immune to Brie. Anger flared through him. She might be a temptress to him, but she'd also abandoned him. He had to remember that fact.

  "That's correct, Lieutenant Phillips. We received no signal."

  "Is it possible they killed him and threw him overboard, and that would explain why you didn't get the signal?" Brie pressed.

  Morgan nodded. "You're very astute, Lieutenant." He grinned wryly. "I like people with your kind of mind. You think ahead and look at the possibilities. Sure you wouldn't like to work for me instead of the Coast Guard?"

  Managing a thin smile, she said, "No, sir. I'm happy here, thank you." Brie quelled the anger she irrationally felt toward Morgan Trayhern. Her anger should, by rights, be directed solely at Niall, she knew. Morgan hadn't ripped him out of her life; Niall had volunteered for the mission. He'd run again. It was a pattern with him: any time life got too dicey, too emotionally painful, Niall bailed out and ran. Just as he'd run out on her during the worst emotional crisis of their lives.

  "Well, should you change your mind," Morgan teased lightly, "you just let me know."

  "Yes, sir."

  Turning his attention back to the mission, Morgan said, "Ormand is either already dead, or possibly, the device wasn't pressed and he's fine. The fact that we haven't received a signal could also be weather related."

  "Or," Niall suggested, "the device malfunctioned? Plus if Ormand was discovered, he might not have had time to press it. That's another possibility."

  "That's correct, Niall," Morgan affirmed. Paging through the manual, he said, "So here's what I need from you two. I need you to fly a fake SAR mission, which will be broadcast over the airwaves so your flight pattern doesn't raise suspicion. We're going to put the latitude and longitude about twenty miles away from Tortoise Isle. That's the point you'll fly to. The reason you'll do this is because we had a backup system built into Ormand's device. The second button has only a twenty-five mile range. A special radio device has been installed in the helicopter you'll be flying. You'll turn it on, fly around the island and see if you can pick up Ormand's second radio signal. If you don't, then he's probably all right. Or dead. If you do pick it up, then you will radio me back here, and we'll send out a special rescue unit from Perseus to pick Ormand up and blow the cover on the operation. You're not equipped to take on a ship load of drug runners by yourself. I don't want to raise suspicion by sending in a rescue team. Sending you in won't make them jump."

  "So, our fly-by is just that," Brie said. "We don't have to affect a rescue if Ormand's beacon is signaling us?"

  "That's correct," Lieutenant Nichola said. "Coast Guard doesn't normally get mixed up in a dangerous drug mission like this. Especially not tonight, because of the hurricane. The winds are increasing. You're going to have enough of a job just seeing if you pick up the signal. Even if all goes well, it's a hundred-mile flight to and from that isle on a nasty night and heavy winds and rain."

  "Nice to know we aren't going to be shot at," Brie said dryly. She glanced at Niall and her heart clenched. He was studying her critically. What was the look in his eyes? Need? Desire? Anger? Brie couldn't be sure. Her hands shook slightly as she thumbed quickly through the rest of the manual. Above all, she couldn't allow her personal feelings to get in the cockpit with him. Two years had given her time to let her bitter feelings subside and a new maturity replace them. But her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. How badly she wanted to say to hell with everything and simply sit down and talk to Niall, at length. Snorting softly, she decided that was a lost cause. The biggest thorn in their marriage had been a lack of communication. Niall had simply run away when things got bad. He had come from a one-parent family, and his adopted mother was rarely around while he was growing up. He wasn't used to relying on others and so he closed up emotionally, like a proverbial clam. Brie had had three years of hell with him, trying to get him to open up and be emotionally accessible to her. Like a lot of men, Niall didn't know how to talk on a personal, intimate level. Just when things were getting good in their marriage, and he was starting to open up, disaster had struck—the worst kind.

  "Questions?" Morgan asked as he twisted around and looked at each of them.

  "I have none, sir," Brie said. "Looks pretty straightforward from here."

  "No, sir," Niall told him. "This is probably going to be a long, boring flight fighting headwinds and gusts, getting thumped around out there."

  Grinning, Morgan said, "I suspect you're right, Niall." His smile disappeared as he looked from one to the other. "I want you to know we're grateful you'll do this. Our mercenaries are our highest priority, and I don't want to lose a single man or woman on an assignment if we can help it. I'm deeply appreciative of your and the Coast Guard's help on this."

  Niall stood. He smiled at Morgan. "We're glad to help, sir."

  Brie closed the manual and made notes in her flight log. Her heart was beating hard now. Within minutes, she'd be in the cramped cockpit with Niall, elbow to elbow with him. The last place in the world she wanted to be.

  Chapter 2

  Niall's mouth was dry as they sat in the helicopter outside the well-lit hangar. Wind gusts shuddered against the fuselage, where they were dry and protected as the rain poured down around them. The atmosphere in the cockpit was tense, to say the least, as he ran through the preflight checklist with Brie in a clipped, professional tone. Her own voice was cool and detached sounding as she responded. Outside, in front of them in the rain, the crew chief waited to give them the signal to start the engine.

  "We're set," Niall said gruffly, closing the checklist and stowing it in a nylon net pocket on the side of his seat.

  "Yes." Brie winced inwardly. She didn't mean to sound robotic, but she couldn't help herself. Being this close to Niall, squeezed into a narrow cockpit with him, was tearing her up emotionally. As she tightened her harness and put on her fire-retardant Nomex gloves, her hand accidentally brushed against his just as he reached up to flip on a set of switches on the instrument panel. Instantly, Brie jerked her hand away, as if burned.

  Hurt soared through Niall. And then anger. He reminded himself that Brie was no longer his wife. They were no longer intimate. She couldn't be trusted. She'd thrown away their marriage in one act of abandonment.

  "I'm not going to bite you," he snapped with unconcealed irritation. Jerking the chin strap of his helmet so that it fit more tightly beneath his clenched jaw, he saw her look toward him. Her eyes were huge with shock.

  "No?" Brie's voice became accusatory. "You did once before."

  Rocking internally from the anger tightly throttled in her low-pitched, husky tone, Niall pressed his lips together. "Let's just get this show on the road, shall we? I don't like this any more than you obviously do." Liar. His heart ached. How many nights had he lain awake, tossing and turning and thinking of Brie, of what they'd had—and lost?

  Stung, Brie tore her gaze from Niall's dark and shadowed features. How terribly handsome he was. His face was narrow, with a strong chin and high cheekbones. He was proud of his Irish heritage; it was the one thing that he'd managed to salvage from his lousy childhood. His birth mother, Fiona Ward, had visited him once, when he was seven years old, and told him his father was Irish. Brie also knew Niall's birth father was an alcoholic. Seamus Farrell had married Niall's mother to escape Ireland's poor economy, and then left her as soon as he found out she was pregnant. Seamus had been a dark, morbid cloud floating in and out of Nia
ll's life from age eight onward. About the only thing he'd given Niall was his name and his dark good looks. When Seamus waltzed drunkenly back into Niall's young life, he'd torn him up, emotionally. Those short visits had been rare, explosive and heartrending.

  She recalled how, one night, Niall had told her the story behind his name—how his father wanted him to have a name of an heroic Irish chieftain. Niall, in Celtic, meant "brave" or "chief." Seamus had wanted his son to amount to something, to be heroic, to do something important with his life because he himself hadn't. All Seamus Farrell could do was spin colorful and exciting yarns about hopes and dreams.

  Brie knew that Seamus Farrell's affair with alcohol was his undoing, and that he'd placed all his hopes and dreams in Niall. That was so unfair. She had seen how Niall had ordered his life around his father's unrealistic expectations and pipe dreams. At age eighteen, Niall went to court to have his last name become Ward, after his mother. He wanted no trace of his father in his life—not even his last name. But Niall had inherited one of Seamus Farrell's worst faults: running when things got bad. Seamus didn't have the maturity or responsibility to see things through to the end, and neither did his son. Niall had forsaken Brie, just as Seamus had forsaken his mother—at a time when both women had needed their men the most. Yes, father and son were alike in that area, unfortunately. It had been the main reason for Brie's divorce from Niall.

  Within moments, the blades of the orange-and-white helicopter began to turn, faster and faster. The trembling and shaking was soothing to Brie; her raw nerves settled down and grew calmer as she relaxed, snugly ensconced in her seat. As the pilot, Niall sat in the right-hand seat. Normally, they'd have a swimmer and a crew chief on board. Because this was not a standard search and rescue, they had neither. They were alone in a tight little space, and Brie's heart was pounding unrelentingly in her breast. Niall was so close! Her heart screamed out in anguish, in need of him. Brie fought the feeling.

  Outside in the slashing rain, the crew chief gave the signal for them to taxi to the takeoff point. The Lihue Airport, which served civilian flights as well as Coast Guard aircraft, was well lit in the blackness as Niall notched up the power and the helo began to trundle slowly forward.

  Just the movement of the helo soothed more of Brie's fractious state. She was busy monitoring the dials, her gaze sweeping from left to right across the console. Her job as copilot wouldn't be too demanding on this trip. It would be a pretty dull and boring flight in one respect. In a way, Brie was glad this was a black ops mission because she didn't want the pressure and stress of a rescue at sea on top of everything else she was presently experiencing.

  Within minutes they were airborne and heading out over the inky darkness of the Pacific Ocean. Niall guided the helicopter to three thousand feet and leveled off. The aircraft rocked and jostled from the gusting fifty-mile-an-hour winds, which slammed into them repeatedly. His grip on the cyclic and collective was firm and steady. Rain slashed across the windshield. It was impossible to see very well and they were flying blind. Niall's constantly roving gaze never left the control panel in front of him. For now, they had to fly on instruments only. To try and fly visually in this deteriorating weather would be folly. Helicopters over water created a special visual illusion for pilots at the best of times, and if they relied on their eyes instead of their instruments, they could crash.

  "Bad night," Brie muttered unhappily, trying to defrost the icy tension in the cockpit.

  "Yeah, it is," Niall grumbled. In more ways than one. He yearned to say something neutral, something less acidic, but his anger was spiking, and hurt writhed within him like a wounded snake.

  Frowning, Brie felt a chill go through her, despite the special one-piece suit she, like Niall, wore over her normal flight suit. It was highly insulated and waterproof, so that in case they crashed into the chilly ocean, they wouldn't die of hypothermia—at least not right away. Even though the Pacific currents were balmier around the Hawaiian Islands, the sea wasn't that warm and a person could die of exposure. The suit was bulky and ill fitting. Normally, Brie sweated in it, but the chill working its way up her spine caught her attention. As she moved the flight log aside and placed it behind her seat, she couldn't shake the bad feeling she had.

  The pleasant green glow of light from the cockpit panel was the only illumination in the inky night surrounding them. Even though the helo shuddered and shook, the roar of the engines was muted to a degree by her helmet. Niall's profile was stern and tense looking. Flying in this weather was not easy. Every few seconds the helicopter would shimmy and shake, fighting the powerful up- and downdrafts created by the hurricane. Or it would slide sideways, to the right or left. Niall had his hands full trying to keep the, chopper on an even flight path.

  Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, Brie wondered if she should offer to help fly the mission. Usually, pilot and copilot would trade off on long flights. Especially on nights like this, when battling the storm took all of the pilot's attention, creating high stress levels. Even the best of pilots could become fatigued, their senses dulled. Then it became dangerous for everyone on board.

  To heck with it. She sighed and said, "If you want me to take over at any point, let me know."

  Niall responded instantly to her low, husky tone. Brie had a voice he'd loved from the moment he'd met her, so long ago. It was like warm, melting honey flowing soothingly, like a balm, across his tense body. Hearing her voice always calmed his fractious state. A Type-A personality, Niall was always highstrung and often stressed out. Brie was a Type-B personality—low-key and easygoing. She seemed to be able to cope with demands in a completely different way.

  "Maybe," he muttered. "I'll see how it goes."

  Well, at least he was talking to her. Brie felt a little of her tension dissolve. His tone was less abrasive. Less accusatory. "Nasty night," she commented, hoping to tamp down the tension still lingering between them.

  "Yeah, helluva night." Giving Brie a quick glance out the side of his eyes, Niall saw her face soften as he spoke to her. She was so damned attractive. All woman. He remembered holding her—how rounded and soft and velvety she felt in his arms. Stop it. Stop remembering. Niall fought himself. Fought the past, which was now glaring into his present world and life. He wanted to run, but there was no place to go, no place to hide from her or their unhealed past.

  Spreading the map across her thighs, Brie studied it in the pale green light. Green was restful on the eyes, the best color for night work. To use a flashlight would destroy their night vision. On this flight, she was the navigator, and she gave Niall coordinates and told him to change course. "You ever been over Tortoise Isle?" she asked then.

  Shaking his head, he said, "No. Closest I've come to it was an SAR about six months ago, roughly twenty miles south of it. A yacht got in trouble in heavy seas in that area, took on too much water and called in a mayday to us."

  "You ended up rescuing the crew?"

  "Yeah, parents and a kid."

  She smiled slightly. "I'm sure they were glad to see you show up."

  Nodding, Niall tried to keep focused on his flying, watching the instruments. He didn't want to engage Brie in conversation. A sudden, violent gust of wind slapped into the helicopter. Hissing a curse, he got the chopper back under control, but only after they'd dropped a good fifty feet. His stomach had lurched up into his throat. He'd heard Brie gasp. Did she question his ability to fly now, too? Anger riddled him.

  "Stop acting like a greenhorn student pilot, will you? I don't need any jeers or cheers from my copilot."

  Brie glared at him. His face was set like stone and she saw perspiration dotting his furrowed brow. A memory of how they had argued came back to her. Lips tightening, she withheld the angry salvo she was going to fire at him.

  Brie knew this flight would be tough on any seasoned pilot. Looking down at the map, she continued to give him navigation information, as appropriate. Looking at her watch, she saw that in another thirty minutes they
'd be at the twenty-mile mark they were heading for. On the console she saw a small black box that had been hooked into their electrical and electronic systems. Turning the dial to the specified position, Brie switched the machine on.

  Their fuel was being eaten up rapidly by having to fight the massive headwind, but Brie knew Niall had calculated how much would be needed for the flight. Still, she thought, studying the gauge, the fuel was lowering rapidly. That worried her, but she said nothing. The heater was on in the cockpit and that, plus the all-weather suit she wore, kept her warm.

  "We're going to arrive at Alpha in ten minutes," she told Niall as she looked at her watch. Alpha was the twenty-mile limit point. If there was no signal detected, it meant they could turn around and fly back to base.

  "Okay," he grunted. The helicopter was wobbling and shaking in earnest from the constant beating of the hurricane's winds. "If I didn't know better, I'd say we're hitting seventy- or eighty-mile-an-hour gusts."

  "Yes, I agree." At eighty miles an hour, a search and rescue was called off. "Want me to contact meteorology?" Brie knew that if she did, and they confirmed that the winds were at maximum, the mission would be canceled. They were almost on target, and to turn back now would be such a waste. But that was Niall's call to make, not hers.

  Shaking his head, he said, "No. Just send a radio report of our position now."

  "Roger." Brie picked up the radio and gave their position in latitude and longitude, then signed off.

  As her gaze flicked across the panel, she saw the needle that indicated engine heat shooting into the red zone. If an engine overheated it could burst into flame or worse, the power of the hurricane was a terrible stress on the engine. "Niall..."

  Before Brie could say anything more, there was an explosion, the sound like a cannon going off around them. Automatically ducking her head, Brie saw sparks and then fire shooting out above the cabin. Instantly, the helicopter began hurtling downward.