Cover Me - By Catherine Mann Page 0,102

hadn’t finished inspecting the entire building. Lasky and the FBI wanted the kidnappers alive for information.

Wade just wanted Sunny.

Thank God for the MH-60 in the lot and years of training at their fingertips. They were in the chopper and ready to lift off in under five minutes. The door closed, sealing him into a dimly lit cocoon of wires and gear, mustiness of old equipment drenched in the fumes from hydraulic fluid. He welcomed the familiar in a day turned upside down.

He shot a quick glance at Franco, suited up now as were the two pilots. Those suits were crucial gear when flying over the life-sapping cold waters of the Bering Sea. Without the suits, someone in the water would be dead within just a couple of minutes.

Sunny would be dead.

Never had the speed of his mission been more important.

“Ready in front. How’re we doing in back?” crackled over Wade’s helmet.

Franco nodded, eyes a little crazier today than normal, but Wade welcomed that edginess now more than ever.

He shot a thumbs-up to the pilots and replied, “Ready in back.”

The pilots turned their attention to starting engines, running a checklist in a professional call-and-response manner that always seemed to bring Wade into the zone. The singsong of the pilots focused him in on the mission ahead. Finally the rotors began to turn, the grinding whine growing louder, faster.

The copilot called for clearance to take off and track down the fleeing fishing boat. The chopper rotors whomp, whomp, whomped overhead in a deafening drumbeat as they flew out over the icy bay. Wind roared beyond the open side hatch, snow flurries picking up speed, a storm brewing.

The chopper banked hard and fast, flying balls-out toward the open bay. With the boat hauling ass, they could be out in the Bering Sea all too soon. The Coast Guard had been alerted, but would be at least five minutes behind them in responding. Minutes were everything in this climate.

He and Franco were Sunny’s best chance of coming out alive.

The copilot began tweaking the radar to spot boats. “I would say that we look for a boat going mach-snot and perform a close flyby to see if we can identify it. But extra eyes are welcome.”

Wade didn’t need to be told that one twice. He sensed Franco sliding into place as well. They’d worked as a team for so long, he didn’t even need to check.

“Moving over twenty-five knots.” The copilot’s voice piped low and calm over the air waves. His New England accent growing thicker betrayed the only sign of any nerves. “Let’s give him a look-see first. Come thirty degrees right, target is about three minutes out.”

Less time than a damn commercial break, but in waters like these, that was more than enough time to freeze to death.

Wade craned his neck to search out the starboard-door window. He kept his eyes trained on a speck speeding away in the distance, weaving a reckless hell-bent path around floating segments of ice, some bigger than the boat itself. Hand locked around a handle bolted by the door, he got the okay to open the hatch and swung out farther into the whipping wind for a better look. God, why had he been such a jackass to waste time with her, fighting? It wasn’t as if he’d accomplished a damn thing. He wasn’t going to change her. In fact, he’d only succeeded in pushing her away from him when, if anything, they should have been sticking closer together.

But then the last thing she’d wanted was his protection. Well, after this, he couldn’t imagine letting her out of his sight. Which would be damn tricky once he was in Afghanistan.

Shit.

Clear the brain of distracting thoughts. Focus on the mission.

His headset hummed to life. “Target in the camera,” the copilot barked. “Target in the camera. I have our boat in sight. And—what the hell? It’s not moving.”

The implications of “not moving” were like a sledgehammer on Wade’s back.

Swinging back into the chopper, Wade launched himself through the hold and behind the pilots. Eyes narrowing, he scoured the radar display, scrambling for every detail he could find, anything that would help him haul Sunny out of this alive.

He braced his hands hard against the pilots’ seats to keep from shaking. He watched the radar, desperate for any sign of life on that boat. The airwaves went silent, the helicopter flying closer, the image growing clearer, larger, as they neared.

Movement. “There!”

Wade pointed, refusing to believe he could be mistaken. Again,