Читать книгу Hurricane Hannah - Sue Civil-Brown - Страница 11

HANNAH AWOKE in the morning to find herself eyeball-to-eyeball with a huge pair of reptilian eyes. For a few seconds, she was absolutely certain she was imagining them. Then the hair stood up on the back of her neck.

The alligator seemed to be grinning at her, his mouth hanging open. She froze as still as a statue, hoping he would think she was dead, not sure if that would work for an alligator, wondering how the heck he’d gotten on her plane, wondering how the heck she was going to get off her plane.

Then the alligator lifted his head and let out a deep, inhuman roar that seemed to bounce off the walls of the small cabin and shake her eardrums so hard it hurt.

Oh, Lord, was that a threat? Did alligators roar before they attacked? She felt the most childish urge to pull the covers over her head and convince herself she was hallucinating this.

Despite her best efforts not to move, a whimper escaped her and she pulled back. But, to her amazement, the gator didn’t leap at her in attack. No.

Buster looked wounded.

She shook her head, convinced her eyes were deceiving her, but nothing changed. The alligator looked hangdog. Hurt.

“Buster?” she said cautiously.

The gator’s head came up, and he eyed her with something that seemed like hope.

Astounded, Hannah considered the possibility that this relic of the dinosaur era had learned something about human behavior. What other kind of behavior would he know, never having had another alligator to talk to?

Cripes, she was losing her mind. Reptilian brains didn’t have emotions.

Did they?

Slowly, taking care not to startle the beast by moving too quickly, she pushed back the blanket she had pulled over herself sometime during the night. Buster watched, but made no move.

Slowly, she stood on the bed, which had replaced a row of seats against the rear bulkhead, wondering if she could leap across him to the aisle before he could turn in the confined space.

The option failed to excite her. She’d never been any good at the long jump, never mind jumping from a dead start.

Buster cocked his head, watching her from one eye, then let out another deafening roar. At once she rediscovered her ability to jump…backward. Pressed against the rear bulkhead, she studied her nemesis while wondering what it would feel like to be devoured alive. Not pleasant, certainly.

But once again Buster looked hurt, as if her moving away was not what he wanted. Well, of course he didn’t want it. The farther away she was, the harder she would be to catch and eat.

Then he did something she would have thought impossible, something that nearly curdled the blood in her veins. He reared up and got his front legs on the bed.

“Oh, God!” The prayerful words escaped her lips, and all thought of not being able to jump disappeared in a wash of adrenaline. Before she had another coherent thought, she ran across the bed and leapt over the gator, reaching the floor—and his tail—in a flash. She kept running up the aisle toward the door, hoping the hydraulics would open the hatch before Buster caught up.

Another roar followed her, this one almost a groan. She could hear scraping as scaly skin began to slide around on the industrial carpeting.

She slammed her hand on the emergency button and watched the hatch begin to lower. Hurry! Hurry!

The sound of scraping alligator skin was growing closer. Afraid to wait any longer, the instant the stairs were halfway lowered, she climbed out onto them and then jumped.

Her ankles stung as her feet hit the concrete floor. She wanted to keep running, but now that she was no longer confined, she couldn’t help but turn curiously to see what happened.

Moments later, Buster’s head appeared in the hatch. If an alligator could have sad puppy-dog eyes, this one did. The sound that escaped him now was nothing like his earlier roar. It was, she thought wildly, the alligator equivalent of a whimper.

Hardly reassured, she backed up. Lumbering as if stairs were unfamiliar, Buster began to descend the now fully opened gangway.

Hannah backed up. Swiftly. If she had an ounce of common sense, she’d flee at once from this hangar and send that annoying Buck Shanahan in here to deal with Buster.

Which, she decided, much as it might wound her pride, she was going to do.

Then she remembered from countless TV shows that alligators could move very fast. Faster than one might think.

That did it. She turned and ran for the door, her feet barely touching the floor. Behind her, scaly scrapes followed quickly. Buster apparently had no intention of letting her out of his sight.

She reached the door, but of course it was barred. She worked the lever as quickly as she could with sweaty palms, and at last managed to throw it back. She could hear Buster right behind her, but she refused to look back. That would only waste valuable escape time.

With a mighty shove, she pushed the door outward and darted through it.

The heat and humidity of the tropical morning felt like a punch in the face. She hardly noticed it as another growl propelled her away from the hangar, toward the office. As she ran, she vaguely noticed that the clouds had come no closer, but appeared darker than yesterday. Heat waves shimmered above the runway in the heavy air.

And scales still scraped behind her.

All of a sudden, Buck Shanahan appeared around the corner of the office. He was dressed in the same khaki as yesterday, though the clothing looked fresher.

“What the hell—?”

She ran right past him, saying, “Get rid of that prehistoric beast. Now!”

It didn’t help to hear his laugh as she flew toward the office door. Once inside the air-conditioned building, she collapsed on a chair and put her head between her knees, feeling as if she were on the edge of fainting…or vomiting, either of which would embarrass her to death.

Closing her eyes, she clung to self-control.

A few moments later, Buck sauntered into the office and closed the door behind him.

“Did you kill him?” she demanded.

“Hell, no. He’s an island icon. They’d lynch me.”

She lifted her head and waited a moment for the world to stop swimming in the adrenaline sea. “He was on my plane! He tried to get on my bed! And he was roaring at me….”

“Roaring?”

“Roaring.”

He started laughing.

She managed a glare and resisted the urge to throttle him. “What’s so funny?”

“Well, Sticks, alligators roar for only one reason.”

“What? They want to eat what they see?”

“Nope.” He grinned around the ever-present cigar. “It’s a mating call.”

Hannah’s jaw dropped. It was entirely possible that it dropped all the way to the floor, but she didn’t bother checking. “What?” she asked finally, hoarsely.

“I guess he thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.”

“Oh. My. God.” Hannah put her head in her hands.

“Hey, it’s a compliment.”

“What? That he thinks I look like an alligator?”

Buck chuckled. “Relax. I’ll get you some coffee and breakfast. He’ll hang around for a while, then wander off to a cool pond before he overheats.”

“He was on my plane!”

“So you said.”

She really, really wanted to draw and quarter this guy. No sympathy. No human feeling. Laughing at her fright. Wasn’t she entitled to be frightened when a huge alligator appeared beside her bed? Only a fool would be sanguine about that!

“You’re crazy!” she declared finally, a wimp-out when compared to strangling him.

“Probably.” He didn’t appear at all disturbed. “Blame it on the tropical air.”

“You must have blacked out one too many times.”

That got his attention and he glared at her. “I was a Top Gun, Sticks. I never blacked out.”

“Maybe you just didn’t know it.”

“Flying what I was flying, I’d have known it.” He scowled at her. “What’s with you, anyway? I told you Buster’s a fixture around here.”

“Not on my plane, he isn’t.”

All of a sudden, Buck’s frown slipped into a cockeyed grin. “You must smell real good to him.”

That was the point at which, if some weapon had been handy, she would have landed herself in prison for life. The only alternative was to storm out, but before she lifted her rump from her seat, Buster’s roar sounded outside.

Buck shook his head. “He’s really determined.”

“Tell him I’m not interested in his species.”

Buck, still grinning, asked, “What species are you interested in?”

“Nothing from Mars,” she shot back.

“Ho! You read that stuff?”

“Shut your mouth, Shanahan, before I shut it for you.”

“You know something, Sticks? My mouth is usually shut. It would help if you would stop provoking me.”

“What? Now it’s my fault you’re an idiot?”

He put his hands on his hips, and now she could no longer read his face. The tip of his cigar bobbed up and down as if he were chomping rapidly on it.

“You,” he said finally, “are walking proof of why I avoid Venusians.”

“If I’m lucky, the mother ship will rescue me soon.”

“It won’t be soon enough for me.” With that he walked out of the office, leaving her alone to stew in her own juices.

The last of the adrenaline washed out of her system, and she crumpled like a deflated balloon.

She didn’t need this.

AS BUCK STRODE toward the hangar, hoping that the schematics would reveal some kind of quick fix for Hannah Lamont’s plane so he could get her out of here as swiftly as possible, Buster was shambling away into the shade of the tropical foliage in the direction of the nearest pond. He’d spend the rest of the day there, keeping cool and dining on the occasional fish or too-slow bird.

Damn woman, he thought. She even had Buster confused. Whatever had made the gator board her plane? Or go into the hangar to begin with? Buster was far too canny a beast to box himself in like that.

Shaking his head, Buck entered the hangar and marched over to the computer. Sometime during the night, the download had finished, leaving him with a heap of schematics to run over.

He sighed as he looked at the printout. Personally, he preferred the older planes. Simpler. Easier to repair. He could even machine parts himself for his DC-3. That stack of printout was nothing but an indictment of modern complexity.

Then he felt like a hypocrite. After all, he’d flown some of the most complex machines in the world, and had loved it. He just didn’t think he could repair one with the facilities at hand.

Bending, he lifted the stack from the basket on the floor and carried it over to the metal desk, where he dropped it. Switching on the desk lamp, he sat and began to pore over the schematics, checking for the likeliest point of failure before he started tracing the system.

Craig arrived on the dot of eight as he always did. He was probably the only person on this island, apart from Buck, who believed in being prompt. Everyone else seemed to suffer from a “whenever” mentality.

Which was fine for everyone else. It would have driven Buck up the wall in an employee, however. Sometimes he thought he just ought to give up and live on mañana time like the rest of the world. It would probably be better for his general health, not to mention his teeth.

“You’re looking uptight, boss,” Craig said, the first words out of his mouth.

“You’d be uptight if you had to deal with that vixen.”

“Yeah?” Craig grinned. “Got you on your toes, huh?”

“She’s got me p.o.’d is what she’s got me. And while I’m on the subject, can you tell me what the hell Buster was doing in the hangar?”

“In here?”

“Yeah. What’s more, he was on the Lear this morning. In fact, he was Hannah’s alarm clock.”

Craig’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not kidding. Big as life, there he was, and what’s more, he was making his mating call.”

Craig’s eyes widened, then he started to laugh. Much as he wanted to stay annoyed, Buck started to laugh, too.

“The gator has the hots for her?” Craig choked out as he laughed. “Nobody’s going to believe this!”

“Well, I saw it.”

Craig chuckled. “Hey, did you hear on the radio? Tom Regan dropped thirteen hundred to Bill Anstin last night.”

“You’re kidding,” Buck said. “Tom’s not great, but he ought to be able to clean Anstin’s clock. What happened?”

“Anstin was feeling cocky after playing here yesterday, so he and Tom Regan were playing five-ten-limit at the casino until the tourists left. Regan challenged Anstin to a heads-up match. Five-ten, no-limit. Thousand dollar buy-in. Regan was down three hundred and decided to rebuy, then two hands later he’s holding King-Queen on a flop of King-King-Nine. He pushes it all in—”

“And the other guy had pocket Nines,” Hannah said.

Buck hadn’t heard her approach, and turned. “What’re you doing here?”

“I heard him come in,” she said, angling her head toward Craig, “and heard the two of you laughing. I thought I’d check and see if y’all have made any progress on my jet.”

“Ah,” Buck said, pointing to the stack of schematics. “Not yet.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” she said, turning to Craig.

He nodded. “Yeah, Anstin had nines full.”

Buck couldn’t resist a smile. As much as he hated to see Bill Anstin win, it was even better to hear that Tom Regan’s three kings had cost him a thousand dollars against Anstin’s full house of three nines and two kings. Regan was the island’s mayor, and Anstin owned the casino. The two of them were, in Buck’s view, trying to ruin Treasure Island by turning it into a major tourist resort. And that was what yesterday’s card game had been about.

Just as bad, Regan and Anstin kept hounding Buck to waive the landing fees for the tourist charter planes that Anstin booked. And Buck simply couldn’t afford to do that. It was a long-running bone of contention, and anything that made either of them miserable was just fine with Buck.

“So this was on the radio?” Hannah asked.

“Yeah,” Buck said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “Is that Bill Anstin? The World Series bracelet winner?”

Damn, Buck thought. Beautiful, a pilot, and she knew poker. A trifecta of danger. “Yeah, that’s him. Took his winnings and built the casino here. Lords over it like he’s God’s gift to gambling.”

Hannah laughed. “As if! He’d never have made the final table if he hadn’t rivered that straight flush against Chris Ferguson. Ferguson flopped the nut flush, and Anstin hit runner-runner.”

Buck couldn’t resist a smile. Everyone on the island knew the story of the final table, where Anstin was dealt one monster hand after another, taking down two previous world series winners en route to the championship.

But few people remembered that hand against Ferguson, a hand that Anstin should never have played to begin with, and certainly not the way he had. Holding the Queen of Spades and the Four of Hearts, he pushed in all of his chips, trying to bluff on a flop of Jack-Six-Three, all Hearts. Former World Series winner Chris Ferguson called him holding the Ace and Queen of Hearts, an Ace-high flush. Anstin caught the Deuce of Hearts on the Turn, and the Five of Hearts on the river, giving him a straight flush, Deuce-Three-Four-Five-Six of Hearts.

Anstin’s odds of hitting the cards he needed to win were one-in-five-hundred. It was one of the legendary bad beats in World Series history, but it had happened on an outer table, away from the television cameras, and it was largely forgotten outside of poker circles.

If Hannah Lamont remembered it, she must be a serious player. And since she was also a business owner, she might be good pickings.

“So you like poker?” he asked.

“I’m from Texas,” she replied, as if that said all that needed to be said.

He nodded. “We have a game here, a couple of nights a week. If you’re interested.”

“Buck….” Craig said cautiously, as if sensing what Buck had in mind.

“Just a few friends,” Buck added, ignoring him. “We play three-six, no-limit.”

“Sure,” she said with a casual shrug. “I’ll give it a try. It’s not like I have much else to do.”

“Tomorrow night at seven,” Buck said. “Back of the hangar.”

“I’ll be there.”

As if she could be anywhere else.