Operation Midnight

“We could die here. I need to know who you are, why you are—”

Quinn’s mouth came down on hers, cutting Hayley off. Then, as if every nerve in her body had been jolted into awareness, heat flooded her. For an instant it seemed as if he were as stunned as she at the sudden conflagration. But then he moved, encircling her with his arms, pressing her against him as he deepened the kiss.

Hayley’s every nerve was sizzling. She couldn’t feel her knees anymore, and her arms felt heavy, weak. But it didn’t matter, none of it mattered, not as long as Quinn was there, holding her, she wouldn’t fall, he wouldn’t let her. All that mattered was his mouth, coaxing, probing, tasting.

It was going through her in pulses now, that surging, delicious heat, like nothing she’d ever known. Some tiny part of her brain tried to insist it was because it had been so long, but Hayley knew it wasn’t that, knew it had never been like this in her life because she’d never kissed a man like Quinn before …

Dear Reader,

Ever have a dog that was too smart for its own good? One that could open doors, cupboards, or con that last treat—or bit of your own dinner—out of you? One that could make you laugh at the drop of a hat, or comfort you when no one and nothing else could? Wait, that pretty much describes all dogs in one way or another, doesn’t it?

But let me tell you about Cutter. He’s a composite, I suppose, not just of my own dogs over the years, but others I’ve met. From the one who could pick just my horse out of the herd, to the one helping his mom to weed by carrying the offending plants to the wheelbarrow, to the one who delighted in rides on an office chair, to the one who knew with her first glimpse of my ill husband who she was here to rescue (that is the real meaning of “rescue dog,” you know).

It’s not really that big a stretch from there to a dog who is not just very, very smart, perceptive, and brave, but—well, I’ll just have to let you see for yourself. I hope you enjoy this first story, about two people who didn’t know how much they needed each other. Who didn’t even know each other, yet. Humans are so slow sometimes, that a dog just has to take charge …

Happy reading!

Justine

About the Author

JUSTINE DAVIS lives on Puget Sound in Washington. Her interests outside of writing are sailing, doing needlework, horseback riding and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

Justine says that, years ago, during her career in law enforcement, a young man she worked with encouraged her to try for a promotion to a position that was at the time occupied only by men. “I succeeded, became wrapped up in my new job, and that man moved away, never, I thought, to be heard from again. Ten years later, he appeared out of the woods of Washington State, saying he’d never forgotten me and would I please marry him. With that history, how could I write anything but romance?”

Operation Midnight

Justine Davis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Nikki, the first, when I was too young to understand.

For Whisper, who taught me so much, and deserved better than I and life gave her at the end.

For Murphy, because without him there might not have been a Decoy (and now his sister Bailey, too).

And for Chase, who proves that boys can be sweet, too.

To all the sweet, funny, smart, wonderful dogs I’ve known. But most of all for The Decoy Dawg who, against all odds and predictions, at this moment has seen another summer. I love you my sweet girl. I won’t give up until you do. And when you do, I’ll try to let go with the grace you’ve taught me.

Chapter One

“Cutter!”

Hayley Cole shouted once more, then decided to save her breath for running. It wasn’t that the dog was ignoring her. Sometimes he just got so intent on something, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Serves you right, she told herself, for spoiling him. Treating him like a human just because half the time he acts like one.

That he’d shown up on her doorstep when she most needed him, that she now couldn’t imagine life without the uncannily clever Cutter didn’t help at the moment, as she was traipsing after him through midnight-dark trees. If she hadn’t known these woods from childhood she might be nervous, but it was the wrong time of year for bears, and she wasn’t afraid of much else. But a sassy dog could get into trouble; just last night she’d heard coyotes. And a cornered raccoon could be nasty. While she had faith in the clever dog’s ability to come out on top, she didn’t want him hurt in the process.

At least out here, if you heard a sound in the night, your worry wasn’t who, but what. Well, maybe except for that blessed helicopter that had buzzed the house a while ago, setting Cutter into the frenzy that started this whole chase. They weren’t uncommon in the Pacific Northwest, what with the navy and coast guard coming and going. Normally they didn’t ruffle the dog, but this smaller one had been frighteningly low and had set him off like a rocket.

She dodged around the big cedar tree on the north side of the trail that could barely be found in full daylight. She should have grabbed her heavy, hooded parka with the flashlight in the pocket, but while fall was in the air it was still merely cool at night, not cold. Besides, she hadn’t realized this was going to be a lengthy expedition.

She was on her neighbor’s property now, and she doubted the reclusive older man would welcome either her or her four-legged mischief maker, so she forged onward.

“Like some stupid character in a bad horror movie,” she muttered under her breath, rethinking sharing the last of the beef stew she’d made with the carrot-loving dog.

She rounded a large maple and nearly tripped over Cutter, who had stopped dead.

“Whoa,” she said, recovering. “What—?”

The dog’s tail gave an acknowledging wag, but his attention never wavered. He was staring through the trees at something. A little wary—it was too early for bears, wasn’t it?—she moved up beside the dog to look. For a moment it didn’t register, it seemed so unlikely.

In the darkness it was almost indistinguishable, in fact would be invisible if not for the faint light from the house. That light slipped over polished, gleaming black, so that the shape she saw was a series of faint reflections, curved and straight, rather than the object itself.

But she still knew what it was, instantly.

The helicopter that had rattled her windows fifteen minutes ago was sitting in her reclusive neighbor’s yard.

Something about the thing sitting there, glimmering faintly in the dark, unsettled her. The fact that it had no apparent markings unsettled her even more. Weren’t they like planes? Didn’t they have to have numbers on them?

Maybe it’s a prototype, her logical mind said. Hasn’t been registered yet. Lots of aircraft industry up here in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe her neighbor was a designer or something. She had no idea what he really did, nor did any of the others in this semirural, forested little community. Being mostly kind, they didn’t call him antisocial, at least not yet. The speculation ranged from eccentric hoarder to grief-stricken widower, depending on the mind-set of the speculator. Hayley, who herself valued her privacy and the quiet of this wooded setting, preferred to simply leave him alone if that’s what he chose.

Being right next door, she’d seen him more often than anyone, which meant exactly twice. And both times he’d retreated immediately inside, as if he feared she might actually approach him.

But now she was wondering if a little more curiosity might have been wise. Scenarios from mad scientist to terrorists foreign and domestic raced through her mind. Her mother would have laughed at the very idea of such things in quiet little Redwood Cove, but her mother had been unaware of many dark things in the world in the last years of her life. Not by choice, but because she was focused on the battle to extend that life as long as possible, a battle Hayley had fought beside her for three years, until it was lost eight months ago.

She heard a sliding door opening, and in the next instant a bright light on the side of the house came on. Instinctively she jerked back, even though the apparently motion-sensing floodlight didn’t reach this far. Cutter, on the other hand, took a half step forward as two men stepped out onto the deck. His nose lifted, twitching rapidly as he drew in the scents the faint breeze wafted his way.

The light threw the helicopter back into the realm of, if not ordinary, at least no longer sinister—at least it did until she realized she could now see that indeed, there wasn’t a single marking to identify the craft.

The light also made the silver in her neighbor’s neatly trimmed beard gleam. The second man, much younger, with a buzz cut and a leather jacket, was a total stranger. He seemed to be helping the older man as they went down the steps, gripping his arm in support.

Her breath caught as, coming down the steps into the yard where the helicopter waited, the leather jacket parted and she saw a holstered handgun on his hip.

She grabbed Cutter’s collar; all her silly notions about men in black and their black helicopters suddenly didn’t seem so silly anymore. Were they the good guys, if any still existed, and was her neighbor being arrested? Was the reason for his reclusiveness something worse than she’d ever imagined?

She shivered, wishing more than ever for her parka. And then another thought followed rapidly: What if he was the good guy? What if these men in the black helicopter were the bad guys, and her neighbor was being snatched by them? That it could be some twisted combination of both also occurred to her; these days it was harder than ever to tell bad guys from good.

The two men got into the helicopter, the younger one again helping the older, with every evidence of solicitousness. Moments later, the helicopter came alive, engine humming, running lights blinking on.

Her mind was racing. Two men, one of them armed, get on the helicopter, and it starts up. So obviously, unless her neighbor was the pilot, which seemed unlikely, the other man was. Which had to mean her neighbor was going willingly, didn’t it? Otherwise, wouldn’t he run while the other man was occupied with … well, whatever you did to fire up a helicopter? Unless he couldn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t well enough? Or was simply too frightened to try to escape?

Or … could there have been a third man, waiting aboard the craft all this time?

Cutter made an odd, uncharacteristic, whining sort of sound just as a movement on the deck caught her eye. And she realized there was at least a third man, because he was coming out of the house now. Tall, lean, with hair as dark as the sky. He had a large duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. He started down the deck steps, and two things happened simultaneously. The sound of the engine got louder. And Cutter let out a sudden, sharp bark.

Before she could react, the dog had twisted free of her loose grip on his collar. And to her dismay he bolted, straight toward the third man. Tail up, head down, he raced out of the trees and across the open yard. Cutter was never vicious, but the man he was charging didn’t know that, and she took off after him.

So much for a silent retreat, she thought as the man, obviously having heard the dog’s bark, dropped the duffel bag to the ground.

“Cutter!”

The dog ignored her, intent on his target. But he was running happily, joyously, as he did when he greeted her if she’d been away and left him home. Some part of her mind wondered if perhaps he knew the man. She’d never seen him before; now that he’d turned in their direction she knew she wasn’t likely to forget a guy who looked like this one.

She had a split second to wonder if the mystery of Cutter’s appearance in her life, at the time when she’d needed the distraction most, was about to be solved.

The man turned to face the dog’s onslaught.

And pulled a gun. Aimed it at Cutter.

“No!”

Panic lifted her shout to a scream. He didn’t shoot. It should have been reassuring. Except that he instantly turned his attention—and his weapon—on her. She kept going. He hadn’t shot Cutter, and he had to be a lot more threatening than she was.

Then again, maybe not, she thought, her pace slowing as the dog reached his goal. And while she’d never expected him to launch into an attack, she certainly hadn’t expected what he did next; the dog sat politely at the man’s feet, then looked over a furry shoulder at her with an expression of utter delight. His tongue lolled happily, his ears were up and alert and he looked just as he did when he found the exact toy he’d been searching for.

He looked, for all the world, as if he were saying, “Look, I found him!”

The man lowered the lethal-looking black handgun but did not, she noticed, put it away.

She grabbed Cutter’s collar, firmly this time.

“I’m sorry. He got away from me, but he’s harmless, really. He doesn’t usually … I mean, he’s usually a bit slow to warm up to strangers. He doesn’t generally charge up to them …”

She was babbling, she realized, and made herself stop.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “We didn’t mean to trespass.” She glanced at the waiting helicopter, gave an embarrassed smile, hoping her neighbor could read her expression since he doubtless couldn’t hear her inside and over the noise of the engine.

“Damn.”

Her gaze shot back to the man who had just muttered the curse. The light was behind him, silhouetting his rangy frame, making him seem even taller, looming over her. Her gut told her the quicker she got them out of here, the better. She tugged on Cutter’s collar, but the dog was reluctant and reacted with uncharacteristic resistance.

Everything the darn dog had done since that helicopter had buzzed the house had been uncharacteristic, she thought, tugging again.

The door of the helicopter opened. The first armed man she’d seen leaned out.

“Time, Quinn,” he shouted over the noise of the engine and the growing wind of the main rotor.

“I know.”

Hayley heard the exchange and registered that the man her suddenly recalcitrant dog seemed so attracted to was apparently named Quinn, but she was mainly focused on getting them both out of here. Normally she was able, barely, to lift Cutter if she had to. But dragging him when he was actively resisting was something else.

She turned, intending to walk away, hoping the dog would just follow; normally he always did, not liking her too far away from him. Not that he was behaving normally just now, but—

She gasped as the man called Quinn suddenly appeared in front of her, blocking her path. She hadn’t even heard him move. And in that instant the entire scenario went from ominous and unsettling to threatening. Because clearly this man was not going to let her just walk away.

“I’m sorry,” the man said.

Then he grabbed her, so swiftly she had no time to react. He ran his hands over her, so obviously searching that any thought that it was some personal assault never really formed.

She elbowed him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

It was a rhetorical question, and it got the answer it probably deserved: nothing. She tried to pull away again but he held her in place with ease, warning her without a word that he was much stronger than she.

And then he lifted her off the ground. She fought, clawing, kicking, landing at least one solid blow. She barely had time to scream before she was physically tossed aboard the helicopter. She twisted, trying to get out before the man called Quinn got aboard. Cutter, she noticed through her panic, did nothing but whine in obvious concern. Somehow she’d always assumed the dog would defend her, would attack, bite—

She was pushed down into a seat. She scrambled to get to her feet, but Quinn leaned over and grabbed Cutter, tossing the fifty-pound dog into her lap as if he weighed no more than the duffel bag that followed. And then he was aboard himself, and the door slammed shut behind him with grim finality.

She sat in the seat he’d shoved her into, her heart hammering, her hands shaking as she clung to Cutter, fighting to wrap her mind around one simple fact.

They were being kidnapped.

Chapter Two

“You were no help at all,” Hayley muttered to the dog overwhelming her lap. Yet despite her surprise at that—a tiny emotion next to the fear that was growing every second—she clung to the furry bundle. The dog didn’t seemed bothered at all by what was happening, just as he hadn’t protested by even a yelp when this total stranger had grabbed him, never mind her.

She, on the other hand, was terrified. If she hadn’t had the dog to hang on to, to focus on, she was sure she’d be shrieking. And then the rotors began to turn, and she did let out a little gasp.

“Thanks for the help, Teague,” Quinn snapped at the other armed man. Even though he was practically yelling to be heard over the engine and growing rotor noise, the sarcasm came through.

The other man laughed. And grinned, a boyish, crooked grin she would have found charming under other circumstances. Now it just added to her growing fears.

“The day you can’t handle a woman and a dog is the day I quit this gig,” the man called Teague shouted back.

“I let you fly, so get us out of here.”

Teague’s grin flashed again, but then he was all business, turning his attention completely to controls that, Hayley noted, seemed to take not only his hands and eyes, but feet, as well. Flying a helicopter was apparently a complicated affair.

“Belt up,” Quinn instructed her.

Hayley didn’t react, still watching the pilot as she tried to analyze the easy, friendly banter between the two men. Did that bode well, or worse? She didn’t know, and—

“Let go of the damn dog and put your seat belt on.” He was yelling again now as the sound of the engine and rotors increased again.

There was too much dog to just let go of and get her hands on the belt she could see at her sides. And then the man realized that, grabbed Cutter and again lifted him as easily as if the animal didn’t weigh almost half what she did. To her annoyance, the dog didn’t even growl at the usually unwanted liberty taken by a stranger. But she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to anger the man while he had the dog in his arms.

He seemed to realize that. “You want him back, do it.”

She reached for the belt ends, then glanced back at her traitorous dog. Just in time to see him swipe a pink tongue over the set jaw of their captor.

“Talk about fraternizing with the enemy,” she muttered as she fastened the harness-style belt, figuring she was safe enough saying it aloud, it was so noisy in here.

The only saving grace was the expression on Quinn’s face; utterly startled. She wasn’t sure how she knew it was not an expression he wore often, but she did. He plopped the dog back into her lap.

“Must you?”

The barely audible question came out of the darkness beside her, and Hayley realized it had come from her neighbor, the first time she’d ever heard him speak. His voice was a bit raspy, probably, she thought wryly, from disuse. And she thought it might hold a bit of an accent, although it was hard to tell from two words called out over the noise of a helicopter.

“Sorry, Vicente,” Quinn said, sparking another spurt of annoyance in her; if anybody should get an apology, it should be her, shouldn’t it?

Teague yelled something Hayley couldn’t hear well enough to understand, but Quinn must have, because he turned his head to answer. Then he reached out and picked something up from the empty front seat. If she had any guts, now would have been a chance, while he was turned away. She could lunge for the door, get away. Problem was, she didn’t think she could undo the belt, hang on to Cutter and get the door open fast enough. She—

Quinn turned back, and the moment was lost. To her surprise, he jammed himself onto the floor at her feet, although he was tall enough to make it a tight fit. It took her a moment to realize he was staying to keep an eye on them, rather than strapping himself into the vacant seat beside the pilot. That must have been, she thought, what that exchange she hadn’t heard was about. And what he’d picked up was some kind of headset, perhaps something that enabled him to talk to the pilot, or at least muffled the noise that made normal conversation impossible.

And then she felt the undeniable shift as they went airborne into the midnight sky, and it was too late to do anything but try not to shiver under the force of the sheer terror that was rocketing around inside her. Why on earth had he done this? She’d done nothing, had been more than willing to vanish back into the woods and let them go. All she’d wanted was her dog….

She clung to her furry companion, his thick, soft coat warming her hands. If there were lights inside this thing they weren’t on, but she didn’t need them to visualize the dog’s striking coloring, the near-black face, head and shoulders, fading to a rich, reddish brown from there back. The vet said he looked like a purebred Belgian breed, but since—despite being the smartest dog anyone she knew had ever seen—he hadn’t shown up with papers, she didn’t know for sure.

And as comforting as the dog’s presence was—even if he did seem inordinately fond of their kidnapper—she regretted it now. The dog was indeed clever, sometimes to the point of seeming unnaturally so. More than once since the day he’d appeared and proceeded to fill the void in her life, she had wondered if he was really just a dog. He seemed to sense, to understand, to know things that no ordinary dog did or could. And because of that, he would be safer on the ground, able to survive on his own. At least for a while.

She didn’t want to think about the possibility that it might be longer than a while. Much longer. That it might be forever, if these men had lethal intent.

She hugged the dog so tightly that he squirmed a little. What had her bundle of energy and fur gotten them into? The dog didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that he was airborne. He seemed to be treating it as if it were merely a more exciting version of the car rides he so loved.

She ducked her head, pressing her cheek to Cutter’s fur. In the process she stole a glance sideways, to where her neighbor was seated, carefully strapped in. She still couldn’t see much of him, just the gleam of the silver-gray beard, and a faint reflection from his eyes. He’d said nothing else through this, in fact after his query had seemed to shrink back against the side of the noisy craft, as if he were wishing he could vanish as he had on the two occasions she’d come across him outside his house. She wondered what he was thinking about her sudden intrusion into his affairs, inadvertent though it was.

But at least he’d made a token protest. She supposed that counted for something.

Vicente. She’d never known his name. And from the way he’d asked the question, hesitantly, it seemed clear he wasn’t in charge of this operation, whatever it was. Was he rich, was that what this was all about? A kidnapping for ransom? But if so, why was he so cooperative? Not that guns didn’t engender cooperation, but he’d seemed awfully willing.