Daddy to the Rescue Read online

  “Feel free to clear off a spot and make yourself comfortable.”

  Logan emptied a chair full of clean but unfolded laundry, tossed it on the couch and sat. “I no longer work for our government in an official capacity.”

  “I’m not interested, especially not in a kite operation.” Kite operations were the most dangerous assignments. If something went wrong, the government cut the agent free and then denied all knowledge of the operation. During his military stint in Kuwait, Logan and his dog had mostly searched for bombs during routine embassy sweeps. But occasionally, he’d volunteered to go on special missions, where planes flew over borders without permission to places where American soldiers had no legal right to be. Kirk had never sweated the ethics. His job had been simple. Check the premises for bombs so people wouldn’t die.

  But good people had died.

  Don’t go there.

  And then he’d taken other dogs on search and rescue missions. Looking for people who had survived mud slides, gas explosions, bombing raids, train wrecks, and earthquakes was rewarding work. Work he now left for other handlers.

  “I’m here because I was hired to do a job.”

  “Hired?”

  “My firm, the Shey Group, is a team of highly trained, mostly ex-military men skilled in the use of weapons, covert ops and hand-to-hand combat. I’ve come to recruit you—”

  “And I’m still not interested.”

  “Each team member owns stock in the company. We’d be willing to pay you one million dollars—”

  “No.” The higher the pay, the greater the danger. And he’d promised himself that no matter how urgent the plea, he wouldn’t heed the request. As one of the best dog handlers in the world, Kirk’s expertise was in high demand. But he could do more good by staying right here and training the animals that were also in high demand. In a year, he could train dozens of dogs, who would go on to save more lives than he would if he kept leaving on missions of mercy.

  “One million dollars, for one or two days’ work.”

  Kirk shook his head, not the least bit tempted. He would stay here, perhaps buy the puppy, and continue to train his animals.

  “You just turned down more money than you’ll probably earn in your lifetime.”

  “So?”

  “So if you’d said yes to the money, you would have been the wrong man for the team.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I only recruit team members who are willing to put their lives on the line for one another. I’ve found that men motivated by money aren’t usually willing to do so.”

  Kirk shot Logan an appraising look. Slowly he nodded. “Makes sense.” He ran a hand through his hair, which needed a good cut. Come to think of it, he’d been so eager to work with the dogs that he hadn’t shaved after he’d showered this morning, either. But a man like Logan obviously didn’t measure a man by his appearance, although he himself was immaculately groomed. Logan had gone to a lot of trouble to seek him out; the least he could do was set the man up with another skilled handler. First he needed to determine what specialization was needed.

  “What kind of mission is it? Drugs? Bomb sniffing?”

  “Tracking and protection.”

  An unusual combination. Dogs were either trained to track or to protect. Not both. And he speculated on what kind of person would first need to be found, then protected. Kirk tried to keep up with the news, but he was often days behind.

  “Did some terrorist bust loose from prison?”

  “A private plane went down over the Rocky Mountains. We need a search and rescue.”

  “I’m sure you know people in the protection business. I’ll give you the names of some good handlers.” Kirk reached for a pad of paper and a pen.

  “Don’t.” Logan stood, his expression fierce. “There are complications.”

  “There always are. The Rockies have snow that’s hip deep. Temperature’s bound to be below freezing come nightfall.”

  “Twenty degrees. Just before the plane went down this morning without warning, an observer on the ground saw a man jump out of the plane and parachute to safety.”

  Kirk’s heart kicked his ribs. “That’s murder. Are we talking more terrorism?”

  Logan shook his head. “There were only two people on the small private plane. One was your ex-wife.”

  Oh…my…God. That’s why Logan had come to him. All his reasons for refusing just withered and died, and Kirk’s mouth turned so dry he could barely speak. This had to be a mistake.

  “Sara?”

  “And her baby daughter.”

  A ray of hope shot through him. Government bureaucracies often made errors. “You must be mistaken. Sara doesn’t have a daughter.”

  “Sara named her Abby.”

  Abby had been Sara’s grandmother’s name.

  Kirk fought past budding panic. Even when Sara had been just a kid herself at age sixteen, she’d already decided to name her first female child after the woman who’d taken her in and raised her when her parents died in a car accident. Sara was always planning years ahead like that. She had schedules for practically everything, from buying a house, to paying off the mortgage, to…having a baby.

  Logan gave him only a moment to digest the disastrous news before briefing him further. “We haven’t heard any radio messages since the plane went down.”

  “Sara always carries a cell phone.” He looked hopefully at Logan.

  “My experts tell me that the mountains could be blocking a signal.”

  “Have you located the crash site?”

  “We’ve narrowed the possibilities. Search parties are already combing the area, but—” he shrugged “—the terrain is rugged.”

  And lethal. Even if she’d survived the crash uninjured, even if she was in excellent shape and had good wilderness survival skills, she could freeze on that mountain. And he knew that for all her wonderful qualities, Sara was no athlete and she didn’t even like camping. However, she was the most determined woman he’d ever known. He hoped that determination would keep her alive.

  Kirk stood, grabbed a pack and shoved in clothing and gear with methodical thoroughness. “How soon can you get me there?”

  THE CHOPPER TRIP to the Detroit airport seemed to take forever. Pepper, his best search dog, settled calmly at Kirk’s feet. The four-year-old German shepherd, her ears up, appeared more than ready for the mission.

  So did Logan, who piloted the chopper as easily as he gave orders. During the trip, he made dozens of phone calls to his team, coordinating their efforts, arranging the transport of men and supplies and equipment to base camp, including flights with the military when necessary—even getting a judge out of bed to authorize a wiretap on a promising lead. Apparently, the team was going after the bastards who’d tried to murder a woman and child.

  Physically, Kirk was as prepared for this mission as Logan and Pepper. Handlers kept themselves in triathlon athletic shape. Whether running beside their dogs for hours, swimming across lakes or climbing snow-laden mountains, they had to keep up with their four-legged partners. And in a successful recovery, speed often made the difference between life and death.

  Handlers were called in to the world’s worst disaster sites, working in areas where machines couldn’t go. In the Rockies, just finding the plane crash site was a huge headache. Satellite surveillance was often no help. Snow and trees could hide a downed plane. So could steep ravines. To make matters worse, the wreckage could be spread out over a very wide area, hindering the search for people or bodies even further.

  He refused to consider the possibility that Sara might be dead. Only hope would give him the necessary strength to get through the next minutes, hours and days.

  Hang on, Sara. We’re coming to get you.

  He knew she would try. Sara never gave up. The word quit wasn’t in her vocabulary. Kirk had learned that very quickly, the first time they’d met.

  At sixteen, he’d been a jock. Quarterback of the football team,
a mid-distance track star and the school’s best five-hundred-yard freestyle swimmer. With some of the sports’ seasons overlapping, his grades had slipped and he’d been assigned a tutor.

  A load of books under his arm, he’d been whistling when he strode into the study hall. Popular, confident, he assumed this tutor would do all his work for him. At the sight of The Brain, however, his spirits sank. With her blond hair tangled around her face and huge dark glasses, he could barely see her features. But he knew her reputation. She took all honors classes. She would graduate valedictorian. And she had no friends. Rumor was that she spoke only in computer code.

  He was pretty sure his athletic ability wouldn’t impress her; in fact, he doubted she’d ever attended a sporting event. But she could hardly miss his letter jacket and the bold M for Michigan High School emblazoned in white with gray piping.

  Most girls would give him shy or come-hither smiles. Both kinds were welcoming.

  She didn’t look up, but growled, “You’re late.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters. We only have an hour a day, three days a week. And you are flunking.”

  “I’m not failing. I have a D.” Technically, he was correct. However, the test he’d taken that morning had yet to be averaged in.

  She handed him a paper. The test had a giant red F on top. She was right. His D had just turned to an F.

  “Take a seat. You’ll find we get along better if you don’t argue with me.”

  He didn’t like failing. Didn’t like the way she spoke to him. But he needed her. His school had a rule that failing athletes couldn’t compete in after-school activities—like football. Most of his teachers let him skate by, but the computer teacher wasn’t interested in sports either. Kirk had been counting on the tutor doing his homework and bringing up his grade enough to pass.

  He held out his hand. “Just give me my finished homework and I’ll be gone.”

  That got her attention. Since he was still standing, she was forced to crane her neck to look up at him. She had braces and those horrible glasses, so telling what she looked like wasn’t easy. However, he had always liked to look, really look, at things and people. His ability to notice details had made him not only an excellent athlete, but more perceptive than other kids his age. And he suspected that when the braces came off and when someone convinced her to stop hiding behind those glasses, the ugly duckling would turn into a beauty. She had great bones, full lips and killer hair—if she would only brush it.

  “You expect me to do your homework?”

  He swung his arm and set the books down beside her. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Hell, no. I’m here because the National Honors Society requires me to spend a number of hours tutoring jocks like you.”

  “That means you have to help me?”

  “That means I teach, you listen. You don’t have to like it. I don’t have to like it, but I will not only complete the requirement, I will do it well.” She poked her finger into his stomach. “And that means teaching you basic HTML.”

  She sounded fierce and determined, like the football coach before a hard workout. And at the challenge, he grinned. “You think I’m going to pass?”

  “When I’m done with you, you’re going to have an A.”

  No one had ever spoken to him like The Brain. She made him mad, and just for fun, he teased her. “I never get A’s.”

  “I’ve never been your tutor,” she countered with a confidence that made him believe her.

  Reeled in by her conviction, he took the seat beside her. She started from scratch and laid out the course work more logically than the teacher had. She didn’t make it easy, but soon the strange commands made sense. And once he understood the logic behind the concepts, he didn’t need all that much help—though he didn’t let her know that. She was so genuinely pleased by his success that he made an effort to get to know her better.

  Four months later he’d aced the course, and to celebrate, he’d asked her out on a date. And oh boy, had that been a mistake.

  He rubbed his forehead. Twelve years later he still carried the scar to prove it.

  Chapter Two

  Sara opened her eyes just a slit, her head aching. She was on her back. Outside. Bright sunlight stabbed like an ice pick. She might have sunk back into a worry-free sleep, but a baby’s cries pierced her pounding head like stinging nettles. “Abby?”

  Just this once, Sara wanted to shut out the noise. Rest.

  But Abby kept crying.

  Unable to fall back into the darkness, memories and fear inundated her. The plane plunging downward. Holding Abby’s hand. The cracking of treetops. Spinning. Rolling. Sliding. Snow…

  Sara steeled herself against the brightness and peeked through narrowed eyelids. No wonder her head ached like someone had pulverized her brains—she was practically upside down. With her shoulders below her feet, she turned her head and craned her neck—to find herself positioned on the edge of a precipice. She squeezed her eyes shut in terror.

  Another few inches and she’d plunge hundreds of feet over the cliff to certain death. Abby’s wails told her she couldn’t just lie there in the snow. She had to do something.

  Forcing air into her lungs, Sara tested her limbs for pain. Assorted bruises. A humongous headache. Which would all end—if she slid over the cliff.

  She could still hear Abby’s cries, although her baby wasn’t in sight. But she was alive. They were both alive.

  The realization of how lucky they’d been to live at all gave Sara the courage to look around. Her jacket had ripped, then snagged, on a jagged outcropping of rock. Her jeans were damp and cold, her boots filled with snow, and her hand was wedged in a fork of jutting tree roots, preventing her from sliding farther down the almost vertical slope.

  Now what?

  She had to free herself. Had to get to Abby. But how?

  Sara knew nothing about surviving in the wild, but she’d lived with Kirk long enough to realize that the most important thing to do was keep her wits about her. Where was he when she needed him? Same place he’d always been when she needed him. With his other family—the United States Marine Corps.

  Yet, it was odd. As if Kirk were beside her, she could hear him speaking in that calm voice of his that never sounded panicked, no matter how critical the circumstances. “Assess the situation.”

  “I’m lying on the edge of a cliff in the middle of the friggin’ Rocky Mountains.” Snow seeped into her collar and down her back. Her fingers clasping the icy root were losing strength, starting to slip.

  Abby screamed. “Mama. Mama.”

  And Sara found the strength to re-grip the root and hook her leg around it for extra support. Now she could free her hand.

  “Don’t rest on your laurels,” she heard Kirk encouraging her. “Pull yourself up for a look.”

  “I can’t!”

  “You going to let that baby die, Sara?”

  Abby was damn well not going to die. She was only eight months old. She wasn’t even supposed to be here.

  Clenching her jaw, using every bruised muscle in her body, Sara swung into a sitting position. Her efforts not only made her head feel a bit better, but she could fully open her eyes and search her surroundings without the sun streaming directly into her eyes.

  Where was Abby?

  Sara saw no metal parts. No smoke. Nothing but trees and sky and snow.

  Grabbing one of the jagged rocks, Sara pulled herself back up the slope. Pain in her fingertips reached the excruciating level, and she used it—dug deep inside herself for strength, and climbed. Sara might not be accustomed to overcoming physical pain, but she knew all too well about the emotional kind. After her parents’ deaths, she had grown sensitive to the fact that she was different from other children. She didn’t have a mother or a father. She didn’t wear nice clothes. She didn’t take piano or ballet lessons. And when she got to high school, she didn’t have friends.

  She used the
pain of loneliness to motivate herself to work hard in school. Fascinated by computers, she spent hours at the local college, making use of the school’s Internet system. By her sophomore year, she could write basic programs. Some kids read science fiction books, other did drugs; Sara got lost in cyberspace.

  At the start of her freshman year, Bobby Martinson asked her to meet him at the local burger hangout. He breezed into the fast-food place with a bunch of the popular kids and a pretty girl under his arm. And that was when Sara knew that Bobby Martinson had set her up to humiliate her.

  She’d tried to sneak out the side door, but he hadn’t allowed her to pretend she hadn’t fallen for his trick. He and his group surrounded her. And then Bobby winked at his girlfriend.

  “Waiting for someone special, Brain?”

  “Obviously, he wasn’t special enough,” she had taunted right back. She had held her head high and squared her shoulders, but inside she’d raged. How dare he tell all his friends that he’d asked her out and then show up with another girl?

  And why hadn’t she suspected a trick? She should have known better. Boys didn’t like her because she was smarter than they were. Girls thought she was a freak.

  She really didn’t care what the other kids thought. She didn’t respect their opinions enough to care. But she figured she ought to have friends—someone whose opinions she did care about.

  Bobby had leered at her, his expression mean. “Maybe you could get a guy if you wore decent clothes.”

  “Maybe you could get laid if you had a brain bigger than your dick.”

  At her comment, the guys snickered, the girls chuckled, and Bobby had looked confused but couldn’t quite figure out if he’d been insulted or not. She took the opportunity to flee, but she couldn’t escape her feelings of humiliation. And she had vowed she’d never let herself be that vulnerable again. She’d worked harder at her after-school jobs and studied longer to earn the scholarship she needed to attend college.