Title: Wolf Hunt (continued)

Author: Lady Chal

Rating: PG-13 (mild language)

Classification: Angst/Adventure, implied Caitlin/String

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, wish they did!

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Chapter One: Waiting

Saturday, July 26, 1986

Reilly's Airfield

4:15 PM

            Naturally, he was late. Caitlin dropped her heavy duffle bag next to the clean, but shabby lunch counter and took a seat on a worn, red stool. Spinning around, she gazed out the large plate glass windows at the multitude of brightly colored aircraft parked on the grounds of Reilly Field. There were scores of Cessnas and other small aircraft. A few helicopters and even a couple old bi-planes, but no familiar white Jet Ranger emblazoned with the bold stars and stripes of Santini Air. No camouflage painted 500, either. Not even a damned bright yellow Stearman.

            She sighed and picked up a laminated menu. She might as well eat, she supposed. It had been a long flight from Georgia, and the overcooked military food hadn't really agreed with her. Not that she was sure the food from the lunch counter would be much better, but a cup of coffee and a tuna salad sandwich did seem to hold a certain appeal.

            The coffee and the sandwich came and went with no sign of Dom or String and she began to be irritated. No doubt the movie shoot had run long and they'd not thought to at least send Everett down with a jeep. Two more cups of coffee came and went and she wavered on the point of aggravation, it was tempered, however, by a ticklish, edgy feeling at the back of her neck. It wasn't like Dom or String to forget an appointment, no matter how busy they were, and if they really were that busy, they damn sure wouldn't forget to pick up the hired help. She sorted through the change she'd been intending to tip the waitress with, and extracted a quarter and a dime. Something wasn't right.

            There was a payphone at the other end of the lunch counter, just inside the door, and she used it to dial the hangar at Santini Air. She let it ring the customary twelve rings, knowing that if the guys were in the middle of an engine job or halfway across the hangar it would take them that long to get the phone. No one picked up. She let it ring fifteen. She let it ring twenty. The soft and steady purr seemed to ring ominously in the earpiece. The recorded voice of the operator, formal and pleasant informed her that the party was not answering and to please try again. She did. This time she dialed the office number. It rang five times and the machine picked up. Dom's voice came on, stiff and uncomfortable –as he always was with "newfangled technology" answering machines or otherwise. She listened as he rattled off the office hours and the services Santini Air provided before finishing "So leave a message after the beep and we'll get back to ya as soon as we figure out how to work this blasted machine."

            "Hey guys, it's me." She began, and paused, half hoping someone would pick up. "I'm still waiting for my lift, but I haven't seen hide nor hair of y'all. Listen, the field closes at eight, and if I don't catch a ride out of here by then I'll be stuck here all night. I am assuming something must have come up, so I'm gonna walk down to Annie's and see if I can find somebody I know and hitch a ride back. If you get this before I find a ride, try calling either here at the field or down to Annie's and let me know what's up. Either way, I guess I'll see you tonight…Bye." She added hastily and hung up.

            Shouldering her duffle bag, she strode out of the lunch counter, out the drive of the air field, and across the road and down to Annie's. It was a short walk to the bar, less than a tenth of a mile, but long enough to for the air-controller to observe from his tower if the pilots walking back really were sober enough to fly, and if they weren't, the lunch counter and gallons of black coffee were strategically positioned on the way.

            The wind picked up a little as she hiked down the road, blowing her hair about into her face and pelting her cheeks with little bits of sand. She squinted at the darkening sky. It looked like rain. The weather channel, which ran continuously in the lunch counter, had reported a storm front moving in off the Pacific an hour or two ago, but it was mostly mild showers. It was certainly nothing bad enough to stop flights. There were only a couple of cars parked on the graveled lot outside of Annie's, but Kate still found a handful of patrons nursing beers in booths or at the bar as she walked through the smoke tinted double doors and into the tap room. Most of them, she knew, had flown rather than driven to the tiny little lounge. They were charter pilots, mostly, just staying over for a night on their way to anywhere but here. She saw no one that she recognized as she dumped her bag into a booth and walked over to the bar.

            "Hey Melvin," she greeted the squat, gnome faced little man idly polishing glasses behind the bar.

            "Hey Kate," the bartender returned, setting down a glass and bracing both hands on the scarred wooden counter. "What will it be?"

            "Iced tea." She replied.

            "Iced tea," he muttered, shaking his head. "You've got to be about the only tee-totaling regular we've got. When are gonna order a real drink.?"
            Caitlin grinned at him. "When you start makin' em, cowboy. I know Annie has you water the booze."

            "Have to," he replied, pulling a pitcher of tea from the mini fridge behind the bar, "or else one of these damn fools will kill themselves before they run out of drinking money."

            He placed a paper coaster down in front of her and carefully set the glass upon it. "String or Dom with you?"

            Kate shook her head. "No, and I'm looking for them. Dom was supposed to pick me up an hour ago. They may call here looking for me. I left them a message for them at the office telling them I'd be down here trying to score a ride home." She glanced hopefully around the room, "You know if anybody here is heading back to Van Nuys?"

            Melvin shook his head. "Not right now. You might stick around a bit though. Lance flew through morning on his way to Tijuana.  He grabbed breakfast here and refueled. Said he was flying some business types down for a day trip and was planning on coming back tonight. Only stands to reason he'd grab dinner and gas up here too."

            Caitlin brightened at this small piece of good news. Steve "Lance" Lansing's executive charter business also operated out of Van Nuys, the same home field as Santini Air. If Melvin was right, she could still be home before dark and ride in style to boot. If Santini's craft of choice was helicopters, Lansing's was Learjets. She could almost feel the leather seats wrapping around her for a quick and cozy hop home.

            She grabbed the glass and the coaster and shot the bartender a grateful look. "Well, I'm gonna grab that corner booth and maybe a catnap. If the guys call, let me know, and if Lance shows up, don't let him leave without me, ok?"

            Melvin nodded and returned to polishing his glasses. Caitlin retreated to the booth, drank her tea, and positioned herself comfortably enough to doze.

            She wasn't entirely sure how long she'd been there. Maybe half an hour, maybe more, when she was jolted awake by a gentle shake of her shoulder. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty."

            She opened her eyes and stared blearily at the lean, rugged figure towering over her. For a moment, she thought it was String, but the voice was wrong, a shade deeper with a hint of a drawl. She wiped a hand across her tired eyes and her vision cleared to reveal the grinning countenance of Steve Lansing.

            "Lance," she said quickly, straightening from her dozing position and attempting to stifle a yawn.

            He quirked one dark auburn brow at her and jerked a thumb in the direction of the bar. "The gnome says you need a ride."

            "Yeah," she muttered, motioning him towards the open seat across from her. "String and Dom stood me up. They were supposed to pick me up ages ago. They never showed."

            She frowned at her watch. It was a quarter 'til six. "I know they were busy, but frankly, I'm a little worried."

            Lance shrugged. "Something probably came up. I know they've been swamped this week, what with their shooting schedules and all."

            Caitlin shook her head, unable to shake the tightening sense of unease. "I'm sure you're right. I know Dom said they were going crazy, but still…" she shook her head, "It's just not like either one of them to forget."

            Lance grinned. "Ah, don't sweat it. I'll have you back before they even realized they forgot. The jet's twice as fast as one of Santini's choppers. Who knows, maybe you'll like it so much you'll decide you want to fly for me instead."

            Caitlin grinned at him. "Nah, I'd hate to be that bored."

            Lance opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but never got it out.  The sudden rise in the volume from the television above the bar surprised them both and they looked up just as the bartender called to them across the room.

            "Hey, guys, I think you better see this. It looks like Van Nuys."

            The television was not a large one, and from her seat across the room, she almost had to squint to see the picture. It was an aerial shot of a group of buildings and rolling smoke. It took her half a second to realize what she was looking at, even as the announcer's voice confirmed her conclusion.

            "A helicopter crash claimed the life of one man and injured two others today at Van Nuys field…" the newscaster's voice droned on, but Caitlin barely registered the words as she gazed at the screen, overlaying and matching the image with one she had seen every time she took off or landed a chopper.

            It was the air field. Oh, God. It was Santini Air. The screen flashed then to the familiar tan hangar with the Stars and Stripes logo emblazoned over the door, then cut to the charred and smoking hulk of a Jet Ranger chopper. The tension that had been lying in her stomach all afternoon roiled and tightened into a churning nausea. He was dead. They were dead. Oh, God. Oh God. Oh God.

            She was only dimly aware of Lance standing over her now, gripping her shoulder tightly, speaking to her, his face so pale that she wondered what her own must look like. He continued to speak to her, but she couldn't make sense of the words. One man was dead. Oh, God. Which, one? Oh, God. Did it matter? No. Yes. Oh, God. Which one?

            She could hear the television and Lance's voice, all running together like white noise through the chaos of her mind. Only one sound set itself apart from them, long and steady and plaintive until she was able to discern it as the ringing telephone. She latched on to the sound and counted the rings. One, two, three… Four, five, six… Seven, eight, nine… Ten… Eleven… Twelve…

            It ended abruptly with Melvin's terse hello, and then silence as he listened to the caller at the other end of the line. Then more silence, as he put the phone against his chest and turned quietly to face her.

            "Caitlin, it's for you."

            Part of her wanted to run to the phone, tear it from Melvin's hands and seek her answers and comfort from whoever it was at the other end of the line. The other part of her wanted to turn and run out the door, as fast and far away from it as possible. She settled for a slow and measured pace to the bar. Melvin flipped up the pass through door, allowing her entrance to the back. He didn't hand her the phone, but swung his head towards a door on the left hand side.

            "Go ahead and take it in Annie's office if you like."

            She nodded and made her way into the tiny office. It was dark, except for the dim gray light that filtered through the solitary window. She could barely make out the shapes and shadows of the office. A black metal filing cabinet, a scarred gray desk with a white office phone placed neatly on one corner. She gingerly lifted the receiver and spoke into it.

            "H—Hello?"

            "Kate?"

            Her knees seemed to disintegrate to jelly at the sound of Everett Mitchell's voice. It was tired, and raw, and… it wasn't one of the ones she had hoped to hear. She collapsed into the office chair only a half second after Lance –who had followed her into the office—shoved it beneath her.

            "Which one?" she whispered, hoarsely

            "Dom." Everett choked. "String's in intensive care. They don't know if he'll make it."

            There was silence for a moment, and then the mechanic said softly. "I saw it blow, and I couldn't do a damn thing to save them, but pick up the phone."

            "I know." The words choked in her throat. "I just saw it on the news."

            "God, Caitlin. I'm sorry you heard it like that." Everett drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I didn't even think about you coming in today. I've been at the hospital all afternoon with Dom's niece, Jo. I just came in and found your message, and I…" He broke off, swearing softly in frustration. "I don't even have a damn plane to go get you in. God, Caitlin, I'm sorry."

            "No," she sniffed, shaking her head. "No, it's all right. I – I understand." She found her own breath catching on a sob. "It's just, not knowing. Until you called, I didn't know for sure."

She drew a deep breath, and attempted to pull herself together. "Listen, Lance is here at Annie's with me. He's going to bring me home, and I'll catch a cab over to the hospital."

"The hell you are," Lansing said softly, "Brenda and I will drive you."

She nodded to him, and continued speaking to Everett. "What hospital is he in?"

"Cedars." Everett replied, and then waited while she found a pen and paper before rattling off the room number. She scribbled it down. She said goodbye. The line clicked dead. He was gone. Dom was gone… and maybe String, too. God, Girl you have to get a grip!

She hung up the phone carefully, as if it would explode. In truth, she wasn't so damn sure it wouldn't. She drew a deep breath, and glanced out the window. Her image was reflected faintly there, ghastly pale in the dull gray of the glass. She suddenly became aware of the shadow in the doorway, standing quiet, one hand braced against the frame. Lansing. She'd nearly forgotten him.

"Lance?" She said softly, "Could you go and tell Melvin to make me a drink? – A real one?"

"Sure thing, Kate." He nodded briskly and turned back to the bar. She scooted the chair over towards the door and turned the lock before kicking it shut with her foot. Only then did she allow herself to cry. Dominic Santini was dead. Stringfellow Hawke was dying, and nothing would ever be the same again.

"Kate?" There was a gentle tap on the door. Drying her eyes on the tail of her shirt, she opened it to admit Lance and the drink he proffered. Actually, it was two glasses of ice and a bottle of Johnny Walker tucked under his arm.

            He set down the glasses and the bottle on the desk and wrapped a brotherly arm around her, burying her face into the warm leather of his jacket. "Was it Dom?" he asked softly.

            She nodded, sniffling. "Yeah, and String. That was Everett. He's pretty shook up."

            Lance nodded. "I imagine," he said grimly.

He sat her back down in the chair, cracked the seal on the whiskey and poured a large quantity of the amber liquid into one of the glasses and set it before her. He poured slightly less for himself. Took a well rounded swallow and set the glass back down. Then he crouched down before her, his big hands resting on the arms of her chair.

"Look," he said, "I know this has got to be hell for you. I'll call Brandy, she probably already knows all about it by now. She'll meet us at the airfield. You should come and stay with us tonight. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone."

She laughed hollowly. "God, Lance. I've been on a three week tour of Guard duty. I don't even have a change of clean clothes to my name."

"All the more reason you should come home with us," Lance reasoned with incomprehensible logic. "You're a wreck."

"I have to go to the hospital." She protested.

"I know." He said firmly. "And you're not going alone."

She locked gazes with him for one stubborn moment and then nodded her head in acceptance. He rose to his feet then and pulled her from the chair. "Come on, let's get over to the strip. They should have the plane refueled by now. If we leave right away, we can be back at Van Nuys in half an hour.

"Thank you, Lance." She said quietly. "I don't know what I'd do if you hadn't been here tonight."

He shot her a gentle grin. "Don't sweat it, Red. That's what friends are for."