Forged in Steele (KGI #7)

Forged in Steele (KGI #7) Page 44

Gunfire erupted as the rest of KGI provided cover for Steele and Hancock as they bolted toward the hangar. They burst through the same door Caldwell had led Maren through just as the helicopter lifted off the ground and rose upward through the gaping opening in the roof.

“Do not shoot,” Steele bellowed. “Maren’s in that helicopter. Do not try to disable it!”

He lunged for the landing rail, barely managing to curl his fingers around it as it lifted higher. Hancock launched himself on the other side and the chopper rose above the roof, the two men hanging precariously from the rails.

As soon as the chopper cleared the roof, it zoomed forward and the ground spun dizzyingly below. Steele swung his legs up and then pulled himself the rest of the way so he was standing on the rail. As soon as his head cleared the opening, he saw Caldwell pointing a gun directly at him.

Before he could take evasive action, Maren launched herself at Caldwell, grabbing his wrist in an effort to prevent him from shooting Steele.

“No!” Steele roared. Goddamn it, he didn’t want her to get herself shot.

Maren grappled with Caldwell and they spun around, each fighting for control. A shot sounded and he and Hancock both ducked. The helicopter dipped precariously, and it was then Steele saw that the bullet had shattered the control panel and the pilot was slumped forward.

Fuck!

Steele propelled himself up and inside the helicopter just as Caldwell shook Maren loose from his wrist.

“Give it up, Caldwell. Your pilot is dead. You aren’t going anywhere and if you want to live, put the goddamn gun down so we can land this bitch.”

He shouted the words so Caldwell would hear, but Caldwell was obviously beyond reason. He swung his arm wildly in Maren’s direction.

“If I can’t have her, neither will you. We’ll all die,” Caldwell screamed.

Steele threw himself at Caldwell, desperate to make the shot go wild, but he was too late. A shot rang out just as Steele collided with Caldwell. But fear for Maren took priority. He shook Caldwell loose and looked frantically in Maren’s direction only to see her standing, pale as a ghost, hand covering her mouth as she looked down in horror.

Hancock was slumped on the floor, blood spreading rapidly over his chest. Holy fuck. Hancock had thrown himself between Maren and Caldwell and had taken the bullet meant for her.

Pain exploded in Steele’s head and he reeled sideways. Caldwell was enraged and he stood silhouetted against the open doors of the helicopter, gun pointed down at Steele, who lay crumpled on the floor.

“I win,” Caldwell said.

In a blur of motion, Maren flew at Caldwell, shoving him out the opening and into empty space. Steele watched in horror as she collided with him and then went tumbling out with him when his hand flailed and grabbed her arm.

“No!” Steele roared.

He lunged for the side, rage and grief knifing through his heart. He thrust his head over the side to see Caldwell plunging to the earth below. But no Maren. He shook his head as tears burned, blurring his vision. Then he heard her.

“Steele!”

It was a high-pitched scream that shook him from his numb shock. He glanced straight down and saw her dangling from the rail, her hands curled tight around it. Her legs dangled and whirled as the helicopter spun and dipped erratically.

He had no time to process his overwhelming relief that she hadn’t plummeted to her death. She was barely hanging on and if he didn’t get to her within seconds, she would fall.

“Hold on!” he shouted. “Hold on, damn it. Don’t you dare let go, Maren. Do you hear me? Don’t you let go!”

He inched his way over the edge, hooking his foot underneath the seat for leverage so he wouldn’t fall. He strained down, his hand extending as far as he could go.

Damn it. He needed a few more inches, but if he loosened his foothold, he’d go with her and they’d both die.

“Maren, listen to me. On the count of three, let go with your right hand and reach for mine. Be quick and don’t let go with your other hand. Can you do that? You have to reach me. Give me your hand. I swear I won’t let you go.”

She nodded, though terror blazed in her eyes. I love you, she mouthed.

Oh fuck no. There would be no farewells. No I love yous before dying. He wasn’t going to let her die.

He strained down as far as he could, splaying his hand and stretching every muscle in his body. “One, two, three!”

She lurched upward, her hand glancing off his. Her fingers failed to wrap around his but he caught her wrist, gripping it so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t broken it. But there was no way in hell he was letting her go.

“Now give me your other hand, Maren. Reach up and give it to me. I have to be able to pull you up. If I can get you high enough that you can put your feet on the bottom rail, you can stand up and crawl inside.”

She nodded and then let go of the rail. The helicopter took a crazy swing, spinning rapidly like a drunken merry- go-round. She flailed and swung out and then slammed against the railing with her body.

He knew he had to be crushing the bones in her wrist, but his grip was the only thing between her life and death.

After their hands bounced off several times, he finally managed to grasp her fingers and then he worked his hand down so he now had both wrists in his grasp.

He pulled upward, using every ounce of his strength to pull her as high as he could so she could gain a foothold on the railing. His foot started to slide from where he had it tucked underneath the seat.

Fuck!

He inched downward and knew that either he had to let her go or they were both going to fall to their deaths. He locked gazes with her, his expression fierce. No fucking way he was letting her die alone. If they fell, he’d hold her the entire way and she’d know that he loved her with his very last breath. They might even get lucky and if she landed on top of him, there might be a slim chance she wouldn’t be killed on impact.

Just as he was coming to terms with the fact they were both going to die, hands circled his ankles and began dragging him backward. Maren’s eyes widened, going from resignation and acceptance to hope.

Steele renewed his efforts, pulling Maren upward with all his strength. The situation was made worse by the fact that the helicopter was spinning out of control and Maren was flapping in the wind. It was taking every bit of his strength, grit and determination not to let her go. He was all the way inside the helicopter with just his arms extending downward gripping Maren’s wrists when Hancock leaned over him, lying on Steele’s back as he reached to grab Maren’s wrists just below where Steele held them.

Together they hauled her up and into the helicopter and Hancock promptly rolled away, blood smeared all over his chest. He was pale as death, and helping Steele had sapped his remaining strength.

“Pilot,” Hancock gasped out. “No pilot. Going down. Controls are shot.”

Steele dragged himself up and then hauled Maren to her feet. There was no time for relief or joy. They weren’t out of the woods yet.

“Get belted in and hang on tight,” Steele ground out. “I’m going to have to try to land us the best I can, but it’s not going to be smooth and it’ll be one hell of a bumpy landing.”

CHAPTER 39

AS soon as Steele headed for the cockpit, Maren leaned over Hancock’s body and began to pull him toward the seat. It took every bit of her strength, but she was wired on adrenaline and at the moment she could move a damn mountain.

Hancock’s eyelids fluttered and he stared up at her in confusion as she began to prop him up so she could roll him onto the seat.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy? Get your ass belted in. Now!” he barked.

Only it came out so weakly it was more of a yip than an actual bark. Where before he might have sounded like a German shepherd, he now sounded like a Chihuahua. God, she was getting hysterical because she was actually considering what kind of dog he sounded like now.

Steele was in the cockpit after hauling the dead body of the pilot onto the floor. He was swearing a blue streak and Maren knew that wasn’t good. Not at all.

“I’m getting you belted in. We’re going to crash,” she said calmly. She marveled at how nonchalant she sounded. As though she’d just said they were attending tea at some palace. Yeah, she was losing it.

“For fuck’s sake, woman, I took a bullet for you. I’m going to be pissed if you kill yourself trying to buckle me in. Now get your ass in your seat and get your head down and cover it with your hands. Got me?”

She ignored him and pushed and pulled until she had him far enough onto the seat to secure the seat belt around him. Then she pushed in next to him and belted herself in. Before she could think of what to do next, Hancock shoved her down and covered her body with his.

She could feel the warmth of his blood against her skin. Could smell it. His pulse was weak. She’d been barely able to detect it when she’d briefly checked for one as she was dragging him from the floor. How he managed to even speak was beyond her, but the man had already proved to be somewhat of a superhuman. He and Steele were evidently cut from the same cloth.

“Going down!” Steele yelled from the front.

The rest was a blur. She almost expected one of those out-of-body moments where everything slowed and your life flashed before your eyes in episodic frames. But all she registered was shattering glass, a bone-shattering thud and the creak and screech of metal tearing. And then the world tilted sideways and she was slammed against the side of the helicopter, Hancock still draped over her.

And then silence.

Awful, overwhelming silence. She tried to move but she was trapped under Hancock’s body and something was pinning him on top of her. She tried to reach to feel for a pulse, but she couldn’t manage it. She had no idea if he was alive or dead, and the idea of being trapped underneath a dead man freaked her the hell out.

Which was stupid given that she was alive and she should be grateful for that much. She mentally went over every part of her body, trying to ascertain her level of injuries. And the baby. Oh God, her baby. Panic filled her and she closed her eyes, praying with every breath that nothing would happen to her child as a result of the crash.

Steele. Her senses were finally coming back to her, and now on the heels of the worry over her child came the knowledge that Steele could be dead or very seriously injured.

“Steele.”

She tried to yell it but it came out as a low croak, her voice cracking. Pain lanced through her shoulders and she puzzled over it. She didn’t feel injured. She didn’t feel much of anything at all.

Shock.

She was in shock and as soon as it wore off, she was going to feel every one of her injuries even if she didn’t know the extent or even what they were. Shock could be deadly, but she was thinking somewhat rationally. She sounded hysterical even to herself, but she’d just been in a helicopter crash, for God’s sake. She deserved a little slack for that.

“Steele!” she said in a louder voice, and it was then she tasted blood and realized her words were slurred.

She closed her eyes and focused on calming her breathing and controlling her heart rate. She needed to calm down. And hope to hell someone rescued them fast.

CHAPTER 40

STEELE came to awareness with an awful buzzing sound in his ears. His head hurt like a bitch and he was numb everywhere else. He tried to shake the cobwebs cluttering his mind and as his vision cleared, he saw glass, blood and crumpled metal, and he was tilted to the left staring up at the right side of the helicopter.

It was lying on its side and he was trapped by the caved-in frame of the chopper. But he was alive. And on the heels of that revelation came utter despair and panic.

Maren.

She’d been in the back. He had no way of getting to her. No way of moving. He could move his right arm, but his left was pinned against the side of the chopper and his legs were trapped by the caved-in control panel.

He tried to calm the roaring panic that gripped him. He had to think straight. He had to figure out a way out of this mess and get to Maren. She could be seriously injured. He needed to get her to a hospital. Hancock had been shot and was already looking bad. It was doubtful he’d even survived the crash. He wouldn’t consider that Maren had been killed. He couldn’t think about that or he’d go insane.

The teams were there. They had to have seen the helicopter go down. They’d be here soon. Only minutes had passed, hadn’t they? He’d lost consciousness and had no idea of the passage of time, but the others were close so not much time could have passed or they’d already be on the scene.

“Maren,” he called, his voice hoarse and thready. “Maren, can you hear me? Talk to me, please. Let me know you’re back there.”

There was a long silence and with each passing second, darkness filled his soul.

“Steele?”

Oh God. Relief was crushing. He went weak, sagging and closing his eyes. It was weak, barely audible, and yet his name was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

“Yes, honey, it’s me. Are you okay? Don’t move, okay? Help is on the way. They’ll be here in any minute. Any idea how bad your injuries are?”