Fire and Ice (Buchanan-Renard #7)

Fire and Ice (Buchanan-Renard #7) Page 22

With a loud groan he collapsed on top of her, pinning her to the mattress. He stayed inside her for long minutes, savoring the intimacy. She’d taken his strength, but he was able to roll to his side, keeping her wrapped in his arms. He was reeling from the sensations coursing through him. What the hell had happened to him? Sex had never been like this before.

Long minutes passed before his breathing was once again steady. Sophie took a little longer to recover. She shifted onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Jack raised up on one elbow to look at her and was arrogantly pleased with what he saw. She looked dazed. Her eyes were misty; her face was flushed, and her lips were rosy from his kisses.

She was the most amazing creature. She was totally uninhibited with him, and in the aftermath of their lovemaking, she didn’t hurry to cover up.

Jack couldn’t stop touching her. His fingers slowly trailed down her neck to her navel. He gently touched the skin where the bullet had struck and was shocked by the surge of anger he felt that someone had tried to hurt her.

She looked into his eyes and asked, “Are you okay?” And before he could say a word, she asked, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

His head dropped to her shoulder, and he began to laugh. “I think I’m supposed to ask you that question. Are you okay?”

“It was lovely,” she whispered.

She turned toward him and began to stroke his chest. The mat of hair tickled her skin. She snuggled closer.

“Very lovely,” she whispered.

“Yeah? Give me a minute. I’ll show you spectacular.”

Jack was a man of his word.

JOURNAL ENTRY 644

CHICAGO

We have tested and retested, and the results are conclusive. The adrenaline produced in stressful situations does increase the potency of our drug. No matter how terrified the monkeys become, their heart rates don’t increase. The cellular degeneration seems to slow as well.

Is this serum the first step in discovering the fountain of youth?

TWENTY-FOUR

THEY MADE IT TO THE AIRPORT WITH TIME TO SPARE, quite an achievement considering Jack had to drag Sophie out of bed. She didn’t wake up happy, but a quick shower revived her. Fortunately, she had laid out the clothes she would wear, and she was completely packed except for her makeup bag, which she dropped into her carry-on as she ran out the door.

Sophie didn’t notice that Jack was carrying his gun until he showed his credentials at check-in. The airline had already been informed that an FBI agent named MacAlister would be on the flight, so it took no time at all to get through security.

With his gun holstered in plain sight on his hip, Jack naturally got some worried looks from passersby, but it was Sophie who attracted the most attention. Every man she passed stared at her. Although irritated, Jack couldn’t blame them. Sophie was a beautiful woman. Gil had called her a bombshell, and he wasn’t wrong. Dressed for the cold in a long-sleeved, fitted, black turtleneck sweater and a pair of snug jeans with boots, she held her coat and walked as though she were on a runway. She captured every eye, but Jack knew she was oblivious to the stares.

They were seated in first class. The attendant took their coats and offered them beverages while Jack stowed their carry-ons in the bin above. Sophie took the window; Jack, the aisle. The seats were wider in first class, but his legs were still too long to stretch out without tripping the people filing past.

Neither had mentioned what had happened last night. Their passion had reached a crescendo numerous times, so they didn’t get much sleep. Sophie was exhausted. She clipped her seat belt into place, closed her eyes, and was sound asleep minutes later.

She didn’t wake up until they were about to land in Fairbanks. When she opened her eyes, she saw Jack flipping through a magazine. He didn’t notice she was watching him. The images of his hot, na*ed body rubbing against hers made her face warm, and she tried to block the memories. Only one way to get through this trip with Jack, she decided. She would take the stance that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Like some of the corrupt men her father went after, she would deny, deny, deny.

Once on the ground and inside the airport, she went to the ladies’ room to freshen up. After brushing her teeth and splashing water on her face, she felt good as new. She had assumed there would be a layover in Fairbanks, but she was wrong. The mysterious Jennifer without a last name had booked them on Chip’s Charter Service, and the flight was scheduled to leave in less than an hour.

Jack leaned against a pillar, reading the sports section of a newspaper, waiting for her. Sophie’s heart skipped a beat when she saw him through the crowd, and she was once again a little breathless. Was it any wonder? Jack was one fine-looking man. “Very fine,” she whispered. Denying wasn’t going to be easy.

“You ready?” he asked, folding the paper under his arm.

They stopped at a snack bar in the terminal, but Sophie was sorry she had eaten the muffin and juice when she reached the gate that would lead them outside to Chip’s Charter Service. There were small jets and small planes, and then there was Chip’s six-seater. Her stomach dropped to her feet when she saw it on the tarmac. She was certain jets flew to Prudhoe Bay. Why weren’t they taking one of those?

She stepped closer to Jack. “You know what? I think we should drive.”

He could see the worry in her eyes. “You do?”

“Yes. We definitely should drive. It’s only five hundred miles, give or take, and we can’t get lost.” She hastily added when he shook his head, “Only one highway, the Dalton, goes up to Prudhoe Bay. We could do some sightseeing.”

“Have you noticed it’s snowing? Can’t do much sightseeing—”

“Yes, I noticed, and I also noticed how windy it is, which is why we shouldn’t fly in that paperweight plane.”

He smiled. “It has two engines. We’ll be fine.”

“Big trucks go back and forth on the Dalton all the time. We could catch a ride with one of them.”

She glanced out the window and saw a heavyset man, looking a little like Santa Claus with his white beard and mustache, circle the plane and head toward them. She kept her eye on him as she whispered to Jack, “This isn’t a good idea. Have you ever flown in a little plane like that?”

“Yeah, I have. One of my brothers is a pilot. He’s taken me up a couple of times. Relax, Sophie.”

Jack went outside to talk to the pilot, and Sophie stepped close to the window to watch him. She was suddenly overwhelmed. In the last twenty-four hours Jack MacAlister had uprooted her plans and her life. What was she doing here in Alaska with him? She had taken him to her bed and done the most intimate things with him, but she barely knew him. He had told her a little about his background, but there was so much more she didn’t know. One of his brothers? How many siblings did he have? Were his parents still alive? Weren’t these things you should know before sharing the most private part of yourself with someone? The reality of what she had done sank in, and she was mortified. When it came to relationships, she had always played it safe. Cautious to a fault, according to her friends…until Jack. He had made her forget everything she had ever promised herself, and it was time for her to regain control.

From this moment on, she was going to keep things polite and professional, and she would definitely not be sleeping with him again. No more foolishness, she told herself.

The door opened, and a blast of freezing air swept over her. The pilot was actually younger than he had appeared from a distance. He was probably still in his thirties; his dark brown beard was covered with a layer of ice and snow, which is why it had appeared white.

“Hello,” he said as he pulled off his glove and extended his hand. “You must be Sophie Rose. My name’s Chipper, but some like to call me Chip. Either’s fine with me. As soon as your luggage is weighed and loaded, we’ll be on our way.”

“Can you fly in this wind?” she asked worriedly.

“I sure can. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll do my final check.”

“Chipper…does the plane have heat?”

He turned back. “Yes, it does.”

Jack started to laugh. “Of course it has heat.”

She leaned close to whisper. “Chipper has ice chips in his beard.”

“Bet you can’t say that fast five times.”

“Be serious,” she said. “Chipper has either been walking around his plane for a long while or he’s been flying without heat. Ice in his beard, Jack.”

“We’ll be just fine, Sophie.”

His calm reassurance irritated her. Of course they’d be fine—unless Chipper accidentally tipped the plane into the side of a mountain, or misjudged the icy runway and dumped them into the ocean. Until today, Sophie hadn’t considered herself a nervous flyer, but as she watched the small plane pitch back and forth from the force of the wind, she thought it was a perfectly sensible reaction to be a little freaked out.

A phone rang, and that reminded Sophie of Paul Larson. He was going to be at the airport to meet her plane, and she hadn’t notified him that her flight had changed and she would be arriving in Prudhoe Bay ahead of schedule. She made a mental note to call him when she arrived.

Chipper opened the door and announced it was time to leave.

Sophie put on her gloves, picked up her bag, and took a deep breath.

Jack turned her toward him and pulled the collar up around her face, then took her shoulders in his hands and leaned close to say, “Everything’s going to be okay. You trust me, don’t you, Sophie?”

She looked into his eyes and was surprised to discover…she did.

JOURNAL ENTRY 662

CHICAGO

We have had long discussions about the next step. We must test our serum on human beings. But how to go about it, that’s the question. If we run our trials through a clinic, even if we were to patent our findings, our secret would be out, and we would be in danger of losing our edge.

People would kill for our formula. When the world discovers what we have, every pharmaceutical company in the world will want a piece of it, and we know there are many who would stop at nothing to nab the profits for themselves. We have to be cautious and do the tests ourselves. When we hit the market with our creation, all the money and recognition will be ours.

We’ve worked too hard not to enjoy the benefits.

TWENTY-FIVE

DEADHORSE, ALASKA, SITS AT THE TOP OF THE WORLD. Some call it a town; others call it a camp.

From her research, Sophie had learned that Prudhoe Bay is a working community. At any given time there are approximately five thousand men on the drilling sites owned by the oil companies, but they don’t mingle with travelers who come to Deadhorse. Each company has its own self-contained facility for its workers. The rigs and the housing for the employees are enclosed to protect the equipment from the climate, and the accommodations are comfortable despite the harsh environment. The men on the rigs work twelve-hour shifts for two weeks straight, then fly home for two weeks. The money is substantial, but the social life is nonexistent.

Tours to the oil fields and the Arctic Ocean are available during the summer months, but a week’s notice is required so that background checks can be made. Security is tight. One hundred sixty men comprise the security force that protects the rigs. Two policemen are on duty in Deadhorse, and like the workers on the rigs, their shifts are two weeks on and two weeks off.

Planes fly in and out of Deadhorse all day, every day, weather conditions permitting, and there’s even a helicopter pad by the airport.

Sophie was fascinated by what she had learned and, despite the bumpy plane ride to get there, couldn’t wait to experience the area for herself. As the plane approached the airstrip, she could see massive rigs off in the distance, and below a white canvas spread out as far as her eye could see. The ice and snow created a solid surface now, but after the spring thaw, the land would look as though it were floating in puddles of water. Deadhorse was little more than a scattering of prefabricated buildings perched aboveground with steps leading up to the doors. They looked more like warehouses than homes or businesses.

Considering the wind and the snow blowing across the runway, the plane’s landing was smooth. Chipper offered to fly Sophie and Jack back to Fairbanks or on to Barrow when their business in Deadhorse was finished, and then he took them to the Prudhoe Bay Hotel.

“Hotel” was not a term the Hiltons or Marriotts would have used to describe the structure, but it served the purpose. The prefabricated units, hooked together as one building, offered simple accommodations.

Sophie and Jack knocked the snow off their boots before they entered the small office. There wasn’t a crush of people waiting for rooms. In fact, Sophie and Jack were the only customers. The manager, who stood behind a linoleum-topped counter sorting through paperwork, welcomed them warmly and told them to call him Zester. It was difficult to judge his age. His face was so weathered, he could have been fifty or thirty, but from his booming voice, Sophie pegged him at forty.

“I should have a reservation,” Sophie told him. “Paul told me he’d make arrangements.”

Zester didn’t have to look in the register. “Not here you don’t. Think you might have one at the Caribou Inn? I’ll call for you and cancel. You’ll like staying here much better.” He didn’t wait for permission but turned his back and dialed his competitor.

Jack nudged Sophie. “Who’s Paul?”

Sophie pulled off her scarf and folded it. “Paul Larson. Didn’t I tell you about him?”

He shook his head. “Tell me now.”

Zester interrupted before she could explain. “Nope. You didn’t have a reservation at the Caribou.” He chuckled as he added, “When I told Charlie how darn pretty you are, he said maybe you did have a room reserved after all. I expect he’ll be coming over to say hello.”

Jack unbuttoned his coat, and Zester spotted the gun at his waist.

“Hold on now. We don’t allow guns here. At least we don’t allow our customers to carry them around.” He leaned over the counter. “What kind is that? Doesn’t matter,” he continued before Jack could reply. “A thirty-eight or a forty-five or a Glock…none of those will take down a bear. A fox maybe, but not a bear. You’d end up in jail if you tried to shoot a bear,” he warned.

“I’m with the FBI.”

Zester looked shocked. He took a quick step back, then moved forward again. In a whisper he said, “FBI? Something bad happen? Someone break the law?” He shook his head and added, “No, I’d hear about it if someone broke the law. I can keep a secret, so you can tell me. Why are you here?”