Crash Landing

“Just give me the word, and I’ll take us down there.”

He blinked himself back to sanity. Landing a plane seemed tricky enough, but on a mountainside, using a runway she thought might be there? No thanks.

“Fools rush in,” he said.

“No. Fools play it safe and miss out,” she countered.

Sean crossed his arms. “Why would there be a runway up here? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Deanna nodded, “Exactly. Why? What if there are answers down there about your horse?”

She broke eye contact. “What if this has something to do with your dad?”

The question gut-punched him. The missing-person case was so cold Sheriff Johnson had stopped calling with updates years ago. After all this time, could there really be a clue? If he stopped Deanna from landing, would he get another chance to find out?

She pointed down to the ground. “There, in that draw—can you see it?”

He aimed the binoculars in the direction she indicated. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“Trust me, it’s hidden but it’s there,” she said. “Not a runway, necessarily, just a strip long enough to put a plane down.”

He pointed the binoculars toward the meadow on the hillside and adjusted the focus. He saw the flattened, patchy grass. Then a quick flash of red between the trees caught his eye. At the edge of the meadow sat another airplane he’d never seen before. Someone was trespassing on his land.

Chills ran up his back. If Deanna hadn’t pointed it out, he would never have seen it as anything other than a meadow.

“Do it,” he said.

“Hold on. I won’t see these landing conditions well. I’ll have to adjust as we go in.”

Sean found the door handle for the second time and gripped it so hard he was surprised he didn’t rip it off. The buzzing motor changed pitch, and he braced himself for a rough landing.

But Deanna was a skilled pilot and performed the landing more smoothly than he’d expected. The plane taxied, decelerating, and then the propeller’s spin slowed and stopped.

Sean moved to exit the plane, but Deanna stopped him. “Wait.”

He stared down at her hand, soft against his arm. He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts before his face revealed whatever remained of his schoolboy crush. He’d gotten over it. Really. His feelings for her in high school had been a distraction. There wasn’t room in his life for distractions of any kind now.

She reached across him to the glove box by his knees, opened the compartment and pulled out a Glock pistol.

“Whoa.” He definitely hadn’t expected that. “Is that the nine or the .45?”

“The nine. It has more rounds and it fits my hand better.”

She slid the Glock into her waistband. “Just in case.” She covered it with her shirt and said, “Who knows who might be out there. Can’t be too careful.”

What could he use to defend himself? He felt the weight of his pocket contents against his thigh. Just a cell phone and a survival knife. The cell tower had burned, so the phone was useless out here. The knife was his best hope, although he’d prefer a gun. “You wouldn’t happen to have two of those, would you?”

She patted his forearm and winked. “Don’t worry, cowboy. I’ll protect you.”

Sean snorted and then followed her out of the plane. The sharp smell of wildfire burned his nostrils, and the smoke made his eyes itch. The temperature had to be in the upper nineties, if not higher. These dry, hot conditions must be miserable for the fire crews.

He hopped to the ground and looked around. He recognized where they were, of course—he’d been exploring this land from the time he could walk—but on his left stood a newly constructed storage shed he’d never seen before. When had that been built? There was no need for storage this far out.

His neck hairs rose. “See anybody around?”

“No. No one,” Deanna whispered. “Let’s check out the plane.”

Sean stepped to follow her, but the sliding click, click of a shotgun shell chambering froze him in place.

Then a voice behind him made a promise that sent ice through Sean’s veins. “Take one more step, and I’ll blow both your heads off.”

TWO (#u4520975a-a111-5eeb-96bf-77c485e2b57b)

Deanna’s heart hammered against her sternum. This was her fault. She’d led Sean right into this trap, making it seem like she had his best interest at heart because she was curious. She’d even manipulated Sean with promises about his missing father. What kind of person did that?

She owed it to Sean to figure out an escape. But how?

The cool metal tucked into her waistband reminded her she had options. Her fingers twitched above her head. All she had to do was lower her hands, grab the gun and then point it at the creep behind them. Simple. That’s what the gun was for. She just couldn’t make herself move.

“We’ll keep our hands up,” Sean said, “but we’re going to turn around now. Don’t shoot.”

How could he be so calm? Deanna couldn’t think straight. She doubted she could even speak, but here was Sean telling this guy how it was going to be as if he were one of Sean’s hired hands.

Without waiting for permission, Sean turned, keeping his hands high. Deanna hesitated for a beat and then followed his lead, brittle pine needles crunching under her boots as she turned. The shotgun’s barrel rose dead even with Sean’s head, making Deanna’s throat constrict. She tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry.

“Don’t move!” the guy behind the gun demanded. He sounded nervous. Scared enough to pull the trigger?

“Easy,” she begged.

He looked to be in his twenties, about the same age as Deanna and Sean, but it was clear he wasn’t local. He was dressed head to toe in baggy black clothes that were far too heavy for the hot weather. The muddy brown eyes under his bushy brows were hard, his mouth set in a menacing snarl. On his face was a lazy attempt at a goatee, nothing more than a thin mustache and a scraggly patch of hair on his chin.

He was just a skinny city boy. Sean had three inches’ height on him and at least fifty more pounds of muscle. If they could disarm him somehow, Sean could take this guy.

Sean didn’t seek out chances to prove his masculinity like some men she knew, but Deanna had seen him win a fight before. A couple of drunk, loudmouthed bullies had targeted Sean at Roundup two years ago. He’d been forced to defend himself, which he’d done swiftly and surely. They’d never messed with him again.

Even staring down the barrel of a shotgun, Deanna felt safer having him next to her. Given the right opportunity and a fair fight, she was confident that Sean would win here, too. But even if they could take the shotgun out of the picture, this guy didn’t look like the type to fight fair. He seemed more of the street-fighter type. He’d probably make up for the difference in size by pulling a switchblade out of those baggy clothes.

Her eyes swept the area. They were trapped. The pilot and his gun blocked their direct path back to her plane, and there was no other escape route that she could see. If they turned and ran for the trees, he’d shoot them in the back. She wasn’t even sure if he was the only man out here.

Her elbows bent slightly, and her hands lowered a few centimeters. Could she do it? How fast could she get the gun out of her waistband?

“Hands up,” he commanded. She obeyed quickly, raising her arms as high as she could get them.

Her gaze passed over the wooden shed next to the other plane. A lot of cargo could fit in there. More cargo than one plane could hold?

“You’re the other pilot, right? Weren’t you expecting us?” It was a risk, but it felt right.

She looked at Sean and tried to send him an unspoken message to follow her lead. The confused expression on his face dissipated as he caught on to the game she was playing.