Chapter 44

Mac sped along the rural route toward the old airport, the light bubble on the top of the truck, but no siren going. It was o-dark-thirty, and no cars were out but them and a few tractors, easily avoided. He was going 120 miles an hour. If he could keep this speed all the way to Chicago, he wouldn’t even need the fucking helicopter.

Helicopter. Tin can of death. Fuck. Don’t think about it. Don’t even imagine it. You can do it for Rogue. Because plummeting out of the sky to a fiery death was the only thing that was going to keep him from her. He could still feel her out there, fighting, calling for him. I’m coming, Roe, he sent to her, as hard as he could, even though he’d never been able to speak ruhi. Hang in there.

He pulled into the airfield, left the truck running, and he and Bruin jumped out, as Harlan, Trent, and Troy pulled up behind them, the two wolves out before the truck even stopped, easily beating Mac and Bruin to the hangar. But all the doors were closed.

“What the fuck?” Mac yelled, swinging around to face Harlan, who had a phone pressed to his ear.

“Around the back. There’s only one pilot here and he can only take three of us. Another pilot is on his way in. We’ve got Chicago PD standing by, waiting to provide you backup.”

Mac gave orders as he ran down the long hangar. “Me, Bruin and Troy on the first bird, Trent and Harlan on the second. I don’t know exactly where she is, but I’ll know when we get close. You tell your pilot to talk to our pilot.”

He rounded the corner of the hangar and saw the only helicopter that had blades moving lazily overhead, as a man sat in the pilot’s seat, a clipboard held up to his face. He grabbed for Bruin. “Bruin, that’s a fucking baby mosquito, not a helicopter.”

Harlan yelled from behind them. “That’s all they’ve got. A Robinson R44. It’ll get you to Chicago in thirty minutes!”

“Motherfuck,” Mac muttered under his breath. “It’s smaller than one of Beckett’s drones.” But he kept running.

“You got this, Mac-attack!” Bruin yelled, as they headed out over the open field. Within a minute, they were at the helicopter.

“Morning, boys,” the human pilot called to them. An older guy, weather-beaten face, short-cropped hair, a hard expression that said he was in charge in his helicopter, he didn’t care who they were. “You the cops, I guess.”

“Yeah, we gotta get to Chicago, now,” Mac yelled back, standing just outside the open door, eying the rotors above them that were turning faster and faster, making him crouch.

The pilot stared at them, taking in the three big males and two big wolf-dogs. “Who’s going?”

“Me, him, and him,” Mac shouted, pointing everyone out.

“How much does that him way?” the pilot yelled back, pointing to Bruin.

“Bruin, how much do you weigh?”

“I don’t know Mac, 340 pounds, I guess.”

“340!”

“Mmhmm, and you, how much do you weigh?”

“260.”

“Well, boys, the two of you can go, or one of you can go with the dog, but not all three of you. This here bird seats four only when they aren’t linebacker size. I’ve got too much heavy equipment back there.”

Fuck. Mac looked at his choices. Harlan had to stay, because Bruin wasn’t a cop, and the two wolves couldn’t talk. He wanted Bruin with him, but Trent or Troy would have been a better choice. Probably. Oh, fuck it. He wanted the bear. “Bruin, get in! The rest of you catch the next helicopter!”

Mac took a deep breath and swung himself in the door, locking the harness on him tight. He could do this.

***

Mac pressed his lips together, holding on to his stomach at the same time, trying not puke all over the gadgets in front of him. The last time he’d been in a helicopter, for Trevor’s wedding, the flight had been less than four minutes. This one? They’d been up for twenty-five already. And there were no doors. The wind tore at him like it wanted him.

Steve, their pilot, handed him a bag, like the one you found in the back of airplane seats. So he’d heard.

Steve spoke over the intercom, and the voice came through Mac’s headset. “You gotta puke, you puke in there, or you’re buying me a new helicopter. Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“I won’t puke,” Mac said, holding on to his seat, but taking the bag anyway, wishing Steve would put his hand back on the cyclic, which was the stick between his legs that controlled the speed and altitude of the helicopter. Yeah, Steve hadn’t shut up since they’d climbed in the air. Mac didn’t quite dare tell him to shut his piehole, because he saw something in Steve’s face that said he wouldn’t be opposed to putting the damn mosquito into a dive, or maybe turning the controls over to Mac… Mac shut his eyes and took a deep breath, only to rip them open again when the mosquito jerked to the right.

Bruin hadn’t said a word the entire flight, but Mac didn’t dare twist in his seat to see the guy. That would make him puke. He was probably just as worried about Rogue as Mac was.

Mac sent out the strange feelers from his mind, hard to do in the helicopter, but he gave it everything he had, searching, searching, begging to Rhen that his Roe still be alive. And she was. They were getting close.

“There’s the West edge of Chicago,” Steve called. “Where are we going?”

Shit, Mac didn’t know. “Just keep flying, I’ll tell you when I see it.”

“Where are we setting down?”

Mac had no clue. Uh. “Not sure yet. On top of a-a building.”

“Seriously? You guys get clearance from the FAA already?”

Ah, crap. Sure. Harlan must have been doing something on his phone, right? “Yeah.”

The city slid underneath them, Mac keeping his sights on the second beating heart inside him that was like a beacon on his mate. They were getting close, the coalescing of what was moving underneath him with the line straight inside his body coming faster and faster.

“There!” he said, pointing. “Your two o’clock. Right there, that brown brick building!”

“Yeah, and where am I landing?”

“Right on top of it, Old Hoss. Right on top of it.”

Steve gave him a look that said he would be happy to do it. “Pinnacle landings are the most dangerous kinds of landings there are, Sergeant. The wind can come up unpredictably, could spill us all into the street.” He came over the building and spun the helicopter almost on its side so he could get a good look at the rooftop. “And that top ain’t flat. Too much shit to land on. I’m gonna have to hover, and you and your friend jump out. I’ll tell you when to take off your harness. The sooner you get clear, the less chance there will be of anybody getting chopped up.” Steve was practically yelling now, excitement in his voice. Mac swallowed hard, but knew once he was on the ground- no, the roof, he’d never have to get in a helicopter again. He could do it. For Rogue.

His hands hovered over the latch on his harness, as he held his breath and tried to control the helicopter with the tensing of his muscles. It didn’t respond at all. “Get ready,” Steve called.

“Bru?”

The bear’s voice came back, totally under control. “Don’t worry about me, Mac. You just get yourself down.”

“Harnesses off, headsets off.” Steve said, as the helicopter lowered and lowered. Mac popped his, but held on to it tightly.

“Now, go, go,” Steve shouted, and Mac looked out. They were hovering only inches above the roof, the helicopter barely moving in any direction. The man was a genius. Mac untangled himself from everything and jumped to the roof. He saw Bruin hit the ground on the other side, and then the helicopter was taking off again, lifting into the air, nosing forward as it hauled ass back the way they had come from.

“Fun!” Bruin called bouncing to his feet, but Mac was already moving. He could feel Rogue, way too many stories below him, pissed as hell, but hurt and flagging. He had to get to her.