Книга - Crash Landing

Crash Landing
Becky Avella


RANCHER UNDER FIREWhen rancher Sean Loomis hires a pilot to help him track a runaway horse on his land, what they find almost gets them killed. Someone has set up an illegal drug smuggling operation on a remote section of Sean’s ranch. With their plane shot down and armed thugs who can’t leave witnesses hunting them, Sean and brave pilot Deanna Jackson must work together to survive. They narrowly escape but discover they can’t trust anyone—including law enforcement. With wildfires raging through the area, cutting off communication with the outside world, Sean and Deanna are on their own. Now, to stay alive, they must outwit criminals desperate to see them crash and burn.







RANCHER UNDER FIRE

When rancher Sean Loomis hires a pilot to help him track a runaway horse on his land, what they find almost gets them killed. Someone has set up an illegal drug smuggling operation on a remote section of Sean’s ranch. With their plane shot down and armed thugs who can’t leave witnesses hunting them, Sean and brave pilot Deanna Jackson must work together to survive. They narrowly escape but discover they can’t trust anyone—including law enforcement. With wildfires raging through the area, cutting off communication with the outside world, Sean and Deanna are on their own. Now, to stay alive, they must outwit criminals desperate to see them crash and burn.


“Don’t shoot,” Sean said to the thug pointing a gun at them.

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 raised 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.

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.

Even staring down the barrel of a shotgun, having him next to her made Deanna feel safer.


Dear Reader (#u4520975a-a111-5eeb-96bf-77c485e2b57b),

Thank you for reading this story. I celebrated with Deanna as she learned that trusting God made her stronger not weaker, and ached for Sean as he faced such deep betrayal and loss. I hope you were rooting for them as much as I was and that they earned a tender place in your heart.

This book was the most challenging story I’ve written to date. I felt a huge pressure to get it right because I wanted it to be a love letter to a place that is dear to me. The fictional town of Kinakane was inspired by the small towns of Okanogan County in North Central Washington State where my family calls home. I know I didn’t do it justice, but I hope I somehow conveyed a small taste of the rich culture, the amazing strength of the people who live there and the rugged, high desert beauty that make the Okanogan Valley so striking. You can visit my Crash Landing board on Pinterest to see more.

I love to hear from readers. You can find me online on Twitter (@BeckyAvella (https://twitter.com/beckyavella)) and my “Becky Avella, author (https://www.facebook.com/Becky-Avella-Author-204268879598026/)” Facebook page. I look forward to connecting with you.

May God bless you,

Becky Avella


BECKY AVELLA grew up in Washington state with her nose in a book and her imagination in the clouds. These days she spends her time dreaming up heart-pounding fiction full of romance and faith. Becky married a real-life hero and follows him around begging him to give her material she can use in her stories. Together with their children, they make their home in the beautiful Northwest.


Crash Landing

Becky Avella






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in Him will I trust.

—Psalms 91:2


To Mom and Dad—

Always the wind beneath my wings.

This book is also dedicated to the people of Okanogan County who faced the Carlton Complex Fire of 2014 and the Okanogan Complex Fire of 2015 with such inspiring bravery and resiliency.


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

This story could not have been told without the help of pilots Michael Nitzel and Bob Sandefur, and firefighters Dereck Bohan and Chad Sheets.

I’m so grateful for your willingness to share your expertise with me. You can’t be blamed for any mistakes I made. Thank you for making this story stronger.


Contents

Cover (#u0717d622-fa88-5bc3-ade0-eaf70a85ab8b)

Back Cover Text (#u6f1fe0b8-134c-58be-a573-48ce73070d51)

Introduction (#ufb75758a-e94c-585c-80ae-2cd0fbbd9758)

Dear Reader (#u17d77ba9-2001-52fa-a9ec-985dbf54b1a6)

About the Author (#u7e4fa63b-6bf6-5a77-988b-72fce5a6675b)

Title Page (#u7bcda8fb-a591-546d-aaa8-cf4262561556)

Bible Verse (#udc7c72f0-ecbb-5701-900d-5db588a856b5)

Dedication (#u6445bbf2-0aab-5fb0-8078-d1455dd7e93b)

Acknowledgments (#ub578460c-a924-515d-8d58-f26077a927bc)

ONE (#u0de09253-da0d-5263-b067-ede886444166)

TWO (#u330804e7-5055-53e0-9558-ae25f143ad9a)

THREE (#ubc208d06-c13c-5bed-8de1-eb00d28c2bad)

FOUR (#ub365ae27-29a1-5986-b4d2-4716a05b6756)

FIVE (#u81d10c9e-0b95-5243-b173-deca6523c6de)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


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

Deanna Jackson just wanted to see the sky. The tiniest sliver of blue would be enough.

The real sky was up there somewhere, hidden behind the canopy of smoke hovering above the rooflines of Main Street. It called to her to be free, to escape the doom and the stress in her airplane, but she couldn’t. Although it looked like it was nearing nightfall, it was really only eleven in the morning, and Deanna was stuck indoors. Stuck being a grown-up with bills to pay.

Eerie shadows flickered through her coffee shop windows, making the inside of The Hangar feel too bright, as if its cheeriness offended the gloom outside. Occasional chunks of charred debris and ash dropped onto the sidewalks like dirty hail, a taste of what awaited the small town of Kinakane, Washington, if the wildfires bearing down on them weren’t contained.

“Make that coffee extra hot, please.” Sharon Grabe’s hands trembled as she dug through her purse for her wallet. Sharon was one of the many refugees stranded in town awaiting word that she could return to her home, wondering if her house in Salmon Creek still stood and if her husband would get out in time. If he’d be smart enough to know his life mattered more than a building, no matter how many generations of memories that building might hold.

“What are you doing, Sharon? Put that money away,” Deanna insisted.

Sharon slapped her debit card on the counter and covered it with her hand. There was no trembling now. Her resolve solid as stone, she slid the card across the counter. “Don’t make me a charity case, Deanna. Not yet, anyway. I’m not ready to exchange hope for a free latte.”

Deanna swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing she had more to offer, but she knew she’d despise the pity she was feeling for Sharon if it were turned in her direction.

Townspeople used to complain about a little summertime smoke in the air caused by far-off wildfires in the mountains. Now the entire Northwest appeared to be ablaze, and five separate fires hemmed them in, sucking the life out of already taxed firefighting resources. The threat squeezed in on Deanna so tight she could hardly breathe.

She felt the flames coming, their approach rumbling through her like the vibrations of an ancient army marching on a besieged city. More and more refugees were streaming into town bringing new horror stories every day. Homes and ranches that had been in families for generations, obliterated by infernos. Old Harley Hopkins died of a heart attack because after telephone poles burned out in Scotch Creek, he had no phone service to call 911.

One way or another, it was clear Deanna wouldn’t escape this fire season unscathed. Even if she didn’t physically lose anything, seeing her neighbors suffering like this hurt enough.

Her grandmother’s voice cut through her thoughts, snapping her focus back on more immediate concerns.

“How long do you plan to make the king of Kinakane wait for you?” Gram whispered.

Deanna’s gaze landed on the tall, broad-shouldered man in the leather easy chair by the front door. Her landlord removed his Stetson and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, obviously impatient with her. Deanna’s stomach knotted. It wasn’t just the smoke that choked her. She was stalling, and Blake Ransford wasn’t the waiting kind of man.

Blake might not be an actual king, but he really did own most of Kinakane. He could be overbearing, but he was her mentor, always quick to bail her out whenever she needed it. Because he was seven years older than she was, it had never occurred to Deanna that Blake might want anything more from their friendship. But last night in an unguarded moment, he’d confessed that he wanted much more than she did.

Hot coffee sloshed over the edge of the mug she held, scalding the back of her hand. “Ouch!” She dropped the cup, sending a sticky river across the counter.

Deanna waved her hand to cool it. Who wanted this hot of coffee in July, anyway? She reached for a clean mug to remake Sharon’s drink, but Gram’s soft, wrinkled hand on her arm stopped her.

“When are you going to get it through your thick head that you don’t have to do this all by yourself? Get going already.”

Deanna glanced at Blake. His confession had come out of left field. She didn’t know how to feel about it, but if she let him, he could help her.

When she laid her head on her pillow each night, the word bankruptcy echoed through her mind, stealing any hope of sleep. Now there were rumors of next month’s big rodeo being canceled. The whole town needed those tourist dollars, but without them Deanna would be finished. If there was no Roundup, she’d have to close The Hangar.

Blake had promised to give her some advice over lunch. Lunch was harmless enough, right? She’d just have to be honest with him.

“Fine,” she huffed and surrendered her mug to Gram.

Blake stood. “Ready?”

How could she make him see she was in survival mode? Every bit of energy went into finding a way to provide for her and Gram. To keep from failing. If she said these things to him, he’d only offer her money. That’s not what she wanted. She wanted to prove to herself and everyone else that she could make it on her own.

Besides, wasn’t the fire threat enough stress? Were they supposed to go on a date right now and pretend that those fires weren’t marching toward them?

She started to speak, but the little bell above the front door jangled in alarm. All eyes turned to watch a dark-haired cowboy rush inside. At the sight of him, Deanna’s face flushed and an old pang of guilt tightened her chest.

“Sean?”

He strode toward her, passing Blake without a second glance. Deanna’s mouth dropped open. Nobody ignored Blake like that.

No one except Sean Loomis, apparently.

Dressed for work in a black T-shirt and Wranglers, Sean didn’t look as if he’d taken any time to spit-shine himself for town like Blake had done. It looked instead like he’d left straight from horseback. His boots were still dusty and his hair was flat on top where a baseball cap must have sat minutes earlier.

“I need to hire a pilot,” Sean demanded. “It’s an emergency.”

Deanna closed her gaping mouth and pushed away the old high school memories. That was history; this was business.

He ran a hand through his raven hair and cocked an eyebrow. “Can you help me?”

Blake stepped beside Deanna and put a possessive hand on her elbow. “Actually, we were just leaving.”

Sean balled his fists, his lips a straight, hard line. “I’m trying to save a horse, Deanna. I thought if anyone would understand that, it would be you. I’ll pay you cash. More if you come with me right now.”

Deanna pulled her elbow free from Blake’s grip. She’d known Sean Loomis her whole life—they’d been in the same schools since kindergarten, had competed in rodeo and 4-H together—but she’d never known him to be this assertive. He looked different, too. Was he taller?

It wasn’t just inches. His baby face had been replaced with a more chiseled version. The Native American features he’d inherited from his father were more recognizable than ever. How had she missed this change? She must have been blind, because this was not the skinny loner she remembered riding bareback around the rodeo grounds in high school. This was a man on a mission.

“I think she made it clear that she’s not going anywhere with you today, Loomis,” Blake said. “Have you looked at the sky out there? How could you think of going up in those conditions?”

“Where are we flying?” Deanna asked. The fires were far enough away for her to fly legally as long as she didn’t get in the way of the fire crews. This was her business, not Blake’s, and she didn’t appreciate his acting so territorial.

“My ranch.” Sean’s shoulders slumped. “He’s a new stallion—I haven’t even had time to name him yet. I had him in the stables and somehow he got loose. Could have been a cougar or bear chased him up into the timberline. I’m not sure, but I’ve got to find him before the fire gets to my place, and I’m running out of time. Can you help me or not?”

Blake stood up to his full height and faced her, his arms crossed. His eyes were cold, more navy blue now than cobalt. She and Sean hadn’t bowed down to the king’s wishes. Blake couldn’t be used to that.

Deanna gnawed on her bottom lip again.

“Gram?” she called over her shoulder. “Can you cover for me?”

“Sure,” Gram said.

“Wait!” Blake grabbed Deanna’s arm as she passed by him. “I thought we were going to lunch.”

Deanna avoided looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got a paying customer.”

Then she followed Sean out the door without looking back.

* * *

“Are you going to survive, cowboy?”

Sean exhaled and relaxed his white-knuckled grip on the door handle. He gritted his teeth. “I’m okay.”

Sweat rolled down his spine. Deanna had the pilot-side window pushed open as far as it would go, and a small fan attached to the dashboard whirred at the heat. None of it did any good. It was hotter in the cramped cockpit than it had been on the ground. Shouldn’t it be cooler in the clouds?

The blue-and-white Cessna dipped suddenly, and Sean’s stomach nose-dived along with it. He glared at Deanna.

“Sorry.” Her melodic laughter rang through his headset. “You’re looking a little green, Sean.”

He shifted in his seat and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He was a rough-stock rider. It was common for him to ride a bull, a saddle bronc and a bareback bronc all in one night of rodeo. And during Roundup every year, he competed in the Ridge to River Run, riding a mustang straight down the side of a sharp hillside. He knew how to manage fear. But soaring through the air in a machine that felt less substantial than a breath-mint tin? That was a whole new experience.

“Can’t be worse than riding a bull, can it?”

He looked down at the rugged, high desert valley below him. “Just a lot farther to fall off.” He’d barely finished his sentence before they dropped elevation again. He sucked air through his teeth and glanced sideways, studying Deanna.

She was dressed in faded jeans and a cotton blouse. Practical but feminine. Just his style. But what was new? Hadn’t Deanna Jackson always been just his style? It was the fact that he obviously wasn’t her style that had kept them apart.

He looked away. As nice as it was to be alone with her—something he would have paid money for in high school—he had a job to do that was far more important than flirting with a pretty girl.

Her voice crackled in his headset again. She pointed out the window to his right. “There’s one of the fires there—can you see it?”

Sean spotted the orange lick of flame glowing behind the foothills that housed his ranch. Plumes of menacing black smoke billowed high above the eastern horizon. Unless the winds changed or some freak snowstorm fell in the middle of July, that fire was heading for his land. Seeing it from this perspective made it all the more real. He sighed. He should be down there getting ready for it.

“We’re here,” Deanna said. “I’m going in closer.”

Sean grabbed the binoculars at his feet and brought them to his eyes as Deanna flew low over Loomis and Callaghan Cattle Co. From this height, his home and all the outbuildings looked like tiny dollhouses.

He lifted the binoculars toward the timberline. Somewhere hidden among those trees was the $50,000 horse he’d owned for less than a week.

Sean massaged his forehead as his gut twisted into knots once again. It seemed like it was his lot in life to be searching for the lost. The disappearance of this horse was painfully similar to another unexplainable disappearance in Sean’s past, and he didn’t appreciate revisiting this level of helplessness and guilt. A weight pressed against his chest as he pictured the yellowing missing-person flyer pinned to the bulletin board in his office. The corners of the paper were beginning to curl with age, marking how long the mystery of his missing father had gone unsolved.

The irony wasn’t lost on Sean. It was that same poster that had driven him to spend his life savings to buy the stallion in the first place. He’d had good intentions—diversify to include more than just cattle, build a breeding business that could help pay for a better private investigator. But none of his good intentions mattered if that horse stayed lost.

Be anxious for nothing, he recalled from his Bible reading that morning. Easier said than done, but it was truth he needed all the same. Worry and guilt were getting him nowhere. They wouldn’t stop the approaching flames or help him find his horse.

They wouldn’t bring Dad back, either.

Deanna sat up straight, suddenly alert. “What was that?”

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder behind them. Sean followed her gaze, goose bumps covering his arms. “Did you see the horse?”

“No.” She looked back again and then flipped around to stare at Sean. “How come you have a landing strip up here?”

“We don’t,” Sean said.

“You do. I just saw it.”

Deanna eased the plane into a turn, heading back where they had come from only moments before. “I want another look.”

“I’m telling you,” Sean said. “I’ve been over every inch of this land. I would know if we had a runway on our property.”

“And I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” she argued.

Her straight, sun-bleached hair fell in front of her fine-boned shoulders as she squinted through the window. Her lips parted in concentration. Whatever it was she thought she’d seen, she was determined to find it.

But Sean wasn’t paying her to go exploring. They had one objective. Whether she approved or not, Deanna wasn’t sidetracking him.

“I’ll look into it later,” he promised her. “Nothing matters more than finding that horse.”

Deanna startled. She seemed so intent on solving this mystery it was like she’d forgotten he was still sitting there. Or was she just shocked that he’d dared to have an agenda that didn’t match her own?

“You don’t think this could be related?” she challenged.

“Maybe. But I don’t have time for chasing maybes.”

Sean winced at the harshness of his tone, but he didn’t apologize. He had to make wise decisions.

“It’s only an instinct,” she said. “But I think we need to get down there and take a look.”

Her eyes were the gray green of the sky before a thunderstorm. He’d never had the luxury of studying the flecks of yellow or the dark rims of her pupils like this. They pleaded with him to agree with her.

“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.

Sean cleared his throat. “Yeah. Didn’t anyone tell you we were coming?” His acting skills could use some work, but he’d joined her charade without missing a beat.

“Who are you?” the pilot demanded, the tip of his gun wavering. “Pritchard never said nothing about another plane.”

Deanna bit back the obvious question. Pritchard? She’d never heard the name before. Time to wing it again.

“Well, he told us—” she amped up the annoyance in her voice “—that there’d be too much cargo for one plane. That you would need our help.”

She flicked one of her raised hands in the direction of her Cessna. “We’re supposed to help you transport.”

The gun’s tip relaxed slightly. Was he buying it?

“You didn’t think we landed for a picnic, did you?” she said.

Deanna blinked rapidly. The sweat she couldn’t wipe away stung her eyes. She arranged her face into what she hoped was a confident expression. This guy couldn’t see fear on her face or he’d see right through her act.

Indecision danced across his features, but something else—something possessive and dark—dawned in his eyes, taking its place. His gaze traveled from Deanna’s head to her feet as if he were seeing her for the first time. Heat filled her cheeks. Every part of her begged her to run from this predator, but she couldn’t.

He stepped closer to Deanna, and a hissing sound escaped from Sean. Sean took a step forward. The guy waved the shotgun back at Sean’s face.

“Get back!”

Deanna wouldn’t want to be alone with a guy like this, but she needed to use the attraction to her advantage before Sean’s cowboy code of honor got them both shot.

She added sweetness to her voice. “While we wait, can we put our arms down? Please? They’re killing me.”

He shuffled his feet and lowered the gun another centimeter. “Yeah. Fine. Put them down, but don’t move until someone gets out here to tell me what’s going on.”

He locked eyes with Sean, his mouth lifting in a cocky half smile. “I’ve shot a man before. I’ll do it again if I need to.”

Deanna froze, believing him. His eyes were so cold. He looked like a killer, like he’d follow through on that promise without a moment of guilt. She lowered her arms slowly, the gun against her stomach calling to her. I’m here—use me.

There was nothing to make her care about this guy, but still, he was a human being with a beating heart. She’d prepared for scenarios like this—she’d bought the gun for self-defense—but facing a real flesh-and-blood threat made her second-guess herself. It made her imagine blood and death. Even if she could get the gun out, could she pull the trigger?

Her questions took too long. Suddenly the pilot spun her, shoved the shotgun’s tip between her shoulder blades and frisked her. He had her pistol in his hands before she could react to stop him.

“Hiding something?” he mocked, waving the gun in front of her face. Her fists clenched. He was too close, sharing too much of her air.

“Like you’d be out here unarmed,” she snapped.

Without the gun against her belly, she was small and vulnerable. And stupid. How could she have lost the gun? Her debt to Sean had just multiplied.

“You armed?” the pilot asked Sean.

“No.”

“Right,” the man sneered. “Just like she wasn’t.”

“I’m not armed,” Sean said.

“Show me,” he commanded. “And don’t try anything. She isn’t too pretty to shoot.”

Sean slowly lifted his T-shirt, revealing a tanned, muscular stomach but no gun. He repeated the process with his pant legs, lifting each side.

“Take off your boots.”

Sean obeyed, pulling off his boots and shaking them out. “I’m clean.”

“Turn out your pockets.” Sean threw down a cell phone and a knife Deanna hadn’t known he had.

The pilot kicked the knife and phone away. “Not armed, eh?”

Sean shrugged. He put his boots back on and stood back up tall, never breaking eye contact. Deanna’s cheeks still burned. She’d had a gun, but she’d lost their ticket out of here by being too slow to act. She met Sean’s eyes and mouthed the words I’m sorry.

The pilot pushed Deanna forward with the shotgun. “Walk to my plane.”

When they arrived at the red Piper Arrow, he raised the shotgun to the back of her head. Deanna could feel the cold metal touching her scalp through her hair. She closed her eyes and refused to imagine the gory details of what would happen to her if that gun fired now.

“Climb into the cockpit and grab the duct tape out of the glove compartment,” he directed Sean. The gun pushed harder against Deanna’s head, making her stagger forward a bit. “There’s two rolls. And don’t forget where I’ve got this gun pointed.”

Sean nodded and climbed in, quickly locating the tape. When he hopped back to the ground, the pilot shoved Deanna hard toward the shed. “Get up against the wall.”

“Hey!” Sean yelled, stepping toward Deanna. “Not so rough!”

“Yeah, about that. Sorry about this, dude,” he said and then swung the shotgun like a baseball bat, connecting with the side of Sean’s head. The thwack of solid wood against Sean’s skull made Deanna’s knees buckle.

“Sean!” she screamed. Reaching out, she caught his slumping body just in time. His weight knocked her to her knees, but she slowed his fall before he hit the ground.

The pilot’s hands shoved her from behind, and Sean rolled from her arms.

“On your stomach,” he ordered Deanna. “And stay there or you’re getting the same as he got.”

* * *

Sean couldn’t measure how much time passed. It could have been forever or maybe it was only seconds. Blackness condensed like a tunnel into a single point of light. He blinked his eyes, so confused. So very confused.

A woman lay on her stomach in front of him. He knew her, didn’t he? Was he supposed to help her?

He tried to stand but gravity pulled at him like a magnet. He wobbled on his knees, trying not to fall.

“Stay down.”

Rough hands shoved him back to the ground. A man was yelling at the girl.

Deanna. That was her name. Sean really should try to fight back. Make that guy stop yelling at her. He would. Later. After he got his head right.

No, now. Something was wrong. Deanna needed him.

Sean struggled to stand again but his body wouldn’t obey. He had no more strength than a rag doll. The hands were on him again, pulling him into a seated position, pushing him against something. A dull pain throbbed against Sean’s temple. He closed his eyes. He just wanted to focus. If he could only process what was happening. That’s all he wanted. To stop being so confused.

Eventually, the details began to fall into place. He remembered he was with Deanna Jackson, that they had been flying. He remembered landing here and the swinging gun that had caught him by surprise. The fog was clearing from his brain but it was too late.

The pilot had tied him up, and Sean couldn’t move.


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

The world swam in such a blur Sean quickly closed his eyes again. He tried to reach his hands up to hold his head, but his wrists were handcuffed and his arms pinned to his sides with tight duct tape. He moaned and fell sideways so he could lean against the shed wall.

Something squirmed behind him. Sean shot back up fast, releasing another wave of intense vertigo. Deanna was behind him. They were bound back-to-back with the tape securely strapping them together across their torsos. He glanced down. His legs were bound, too, just above the ankles.

“Sean? Are you awake?” Deanna sounded far away, her voice full of fear.

He started to nod but decided it was best to keep his head still. “Yeah. What happened?”

“All I had to do was reach for my gun. I had it right there but I panicked.” Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

His chest tightened. Deanna wasn’t the type to cry. Not being able to reach her to comfort her hurt worse than his head. “This is nothing, Dee. You’ve seen me get my bell rung worse than this riding bulls. This isn’t any different than those times. I’m already feeling better.”

“But he used your head like a baseball.”

The throbbing inside his skull agreed with her. “Maybe. But I’ll take a knock in the head over a gunshot wound any day. He didn’t like being outnumbered, but he must’ve bought your story or he would have just shot me. That was quick thinking.”

Deanna felt so tiny leaning against his back. She was a petite woman, but it had never occurred to him to think of her as small. She’d always been the golden girl, larger than life in his eyes, and far beyond his reach. In high school, she’d been like a sun with a mass of people constantly orbiting around her.

This small, sad voice wasn’t hers. He wanted to squeeze her hand, but he couldn’t reach it.

Sean swallowed. He needed to ask her something, but it was hard to spit out the words. Probably because he was afraid of the answer. They came out just above a whisper. “Deanna, did that guy hurt you?”

He steeled himself.

“No. I’m okay. I think he’s waiting for others to show up to tell him whether or not we are who we say we are before he does anything to us.”

Sean released the breath he’d held. Thank God. “See, you bought us time. That’s good. Where’d he go?”

“He got bored, so he’s rummaging through my plane.”

Sean squinted toward the Cessna. “He’ll be back soon.”

“What do you think he’s doing up here, anyway? And who’s that Pritchard guy he mentioned?”

“I don’t know,” Sean admitted. “I’d guess he’s meeting someone and whoever it is, they won’t be happy to see us. This might be our only chance to get away.”

“I agree, but how?” Deanna asked.

Sean flexed his chest. The tape didn’t give at all. “We’ve got to get our hands free first. I’m going to lean forward and try to chew the tape loose around my wrists,” he said. “Can you roll onto my back while I roll forward?”

They maneuvered in sync, Sean bending in half at the waist and Deanna arching backward onto the heels of her boots. Barely reaching his wrists, Sean bit at the gray tape but it was bound several times around and was too thick to chew through. He’d break through eventually, but it would take too long. He sat up slowly, easing Deanna back down behind him.

“I need something to saw with,” he said.

And to stop being so dizzy. That would help.

He reached for a stick, but it was so far out of reach he almost knocked them both onto their sides trying to stretch to it. This wasn’t working. He needed a plan, but it was still hard to think straight. Man, his head hurt.

Sean’s back was warm where Deanna leaned against him. The pilot might not have hurt her yet, but there was no denying that hungry look Sean had seen in his eyes. He would hurt her if he got a chance. Sean needed to get her to safety, but he couldn’t move.

Defeated by a city boy and a roll of duct tape. It was humiliating.

He pulled hard against the tape again, but it didn’t loosen any more than it had the last time. He closed his eyes. God, I don’t know what to do. Show me how to get her out of here.

“Got any ideas?” he asked Deanna.

Her head rocked against his back. “No. But I think you’re right—we need to get our hands free first.”

Sean stared at his feet. Maybe he could rub his wrists against the edges of his cowboy boots and break the tape. But that would be as slow as trying to chew through it.

“Wait.” Sean sat up straight. “What kind of boots are you wearing?”

“Ropers.”

“Lace-ups?”

“Yeah, why?”

He had an idea, and it just might work. “If you lean forward, could you reach your laces?”

“Probably.”

Her laces should be thick enough to get some good friction. “Unlace one just enough to get it up to your mouth. If you can bite down on it and pull it tight enough, it’ll give you something to saw against the tape. Can you do it?”

“I’ll try.” She folded over in half and followed his instructions. He tried to keep his weight off her. “Got it,” she mumbled. She sat up and he rolled back.

“Okay, now, keep it really tight.”

The desire to be free pulsed through him. It was so hard to sit still, to be helpless like this. He could feel the rocking motion behind him as Deanna slid her wrist up and down the bootlace. “You gotta hurry.”

“Almost got it,” she said. There was a manic tone to her voice. Her enthusiasm was contagious. “It worked! My hands are loose!”

“Good,” he said. “Now your ankles.”

“There!”

The sound of ripping duct tape that hit his ears might possibly have been the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. His idea was working. He could almost taste freedom. But in the distance, the pilot jumped down from the plane.

“He’s coming, Deanna. You’ve got to hustle.”

“Almost done...”

Hurry!

And then he felt it. The tape around their torsos was loosening. He reached for Deanna and covered her hand, stopping her before she got too zealous ripping the tape off them. “Wait. Go really slow. We need him to think we’re still tied up.”

They helped each other pull it off as nonchalantly as possible. When they got it all off, Sean mashed the spent tape into a ball. They were free.

“For this to work, we’ve got to surprise him,” he said. “I’ll jump him as soon as he’s close enough.”

“He’s still got the shotgun,” Deanna said. “And he’s got my pistol and your knife.”

“What else can I do? If we go running now, he’ll shoot us for sure. And if we wait any longer, whoever he’s working with will get here and he’ll know we were lying. Either way, we end up shot.”

Knowing they were actually free and still not being able to act on it was its own form of torture. Sean kept his eyes on the man ambling toward them, trying to calculate when he should make his move. How close should he let the other guy get before he attacked?

Somehow Sean would need to leap from a sitting position and strike before the guy could raise his shotgun and shoot. Or worse, grab the knife and stab Sean. He shuddered. Knives were ugly business.

Deanna’s breaths were shallow and getting more frequent behind him. His fingers found hers behind him, and he squeezed. The blurry vision, the pain in his head, it would all have to be ignored. He was getting Deanna out of here. Impossible odds or not.

“Get ready,” he whispered.

With each step the guy took toward him, Sean prepared to jump. The pilot was getting closer to them. Could he see the tape was gone yet? Sean forced himself to relax, to look bored. Just a little bit closer, closer. Now!

Sean sprang from his spot, scrambling to get his body upright fast enough to have an advantage. Diving forward, he tackled the pilot like he would a calf for branding. They hit the ground hard.

Sean was on top. He’d had the element of surprise he wanted, but the pilot was scrappy and strong and recovered quickly.

The gun fired, the blast ringing in Sean’s ears, but he wasn’t too deaf to hear Deanna screaming. Was she hit?

His heart pounded as he wrestled and grappled with the man struggling beneath him. Sean fought to keep the shotgun pinned to the ground without letting the man slip out from under him. He ducked to avoid a head butt, and the pilot’s head connected with his shoulder instead. Sean needed to gain control of the shotgun before he got his face blown off. He shoved his right forearm across the pilot’s neck, pressing hard on his windpipe. The man’s face was purple, but he hadn’t stopped fighting.

Sean caught sight of Deanna in his peripheral vision. “Run for the plane,” he panted.

“Not without you!”

Her arms raised above her head and he saw she held a large stone. She dropped her hands fast and crack. Sean winced at the sound of stone against skull, but she’d done it. The fight was over instantly as the pilot’s writhing body went completely slack.

* * *

Bile burned Deanna’s throat. She covered her face with her hands, hearing again that horrible sound. Had she killed him?

Sean’s larger hands covered hers. They were warm and gentle as he peeled her hands away from her face. He placed the pistol she’d lost into her right palm. Then he closed her fingers around it. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. If she’d just killed that guy, she didn’t want to see it.

“You did the right thing,” Sean said, his voice kind. “I need you to open your eyes so you can help me with him before he wakes up.”

Her eyes popped open. “He’s not dead?”

Sean chuckled. “No. He’ll have a nasty headache, but he’s alive.” Sean rubbed his own head. “For some reason, I don’t feel much sympathy. Can you do something to ground his plane? I don’t want him flying away before I can get the sheriff out here.”

“I’ll need your knife.”

Sean knelt beside the groaning man and retrieved his knife and his cell phone. “Hurts, doesn’t it, buddy?” Then he handed Deanna the knife and said, “Make sure he’s stuck here.”

As Sean worked on tying up the pilot with the remaining duct tape, Deanna jogged for the Arrow. First she punctured each tire with Sean’s knife. Even on a paved runway, a pilot would need tires to take off. Without them, on this uneven ground and grass, takeoff would be impossible. But just to make sure he was truly grounded, she located the magneto line to the engine and sliced it at each end, then pocketed the cable. She surveyed her work. Satisfied, she rejoined Sean.

“That will have to do for now,” he said, tossing the empty tape roll against the shed. “It’s not tight enough but we’re out of tape.”

“Well, even if he gets out of the tape, I guarantee that airplane of his isn’t going anywhere soon.”

“Good work,” Sean said, then returned to searching the pilot. “Let’s see what we can find out about our friend here.”

“That he’s up to no good?” Deanna scoffed.

Sean pulled out a wallet and then an ID card. “Hmm... Nathan Reid from...” Sean looked again at the card. “Nathan Reid from Vancouver.”

He tossed the wallet on the ground but pocketed the card. “Here you go, dude.” he said. “I’ll keep your ID so I can bring Sheriff Johnson a little souvenir.” Then he grabbed the hard-won shotgun and stood up.

“He’s Canadian?” Deanna asked.

Sean nodded. “You’re a little south of your border, Nathan. What are you doing trespassing on my land?” The pilot said nothing.

A twig snapped somewhere in the distance, and Deanna jumped, her eyes scanning the meadow.

“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered, stepping in the direction of her plane, but Sean held back.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

Sean’s jaw twitched. “I can’t leave until I get some answers.”

The hovering shroud of smoky haze contributed to the scary-movie feel, and Deanna’s unease was growing by the second.

“Let’s go,” she begged. “He’s coming to, and he said he was meeting people here.”

“That’s the problem,” Sean said, pointing at the plane. “I still don’t know what they are up to or who else is involved. It’s like you said in the air—this is my land and I should know what’s happening on it.”

Without waiting for her okay, Sean turned and walked back toward the shed.

“This is nuts!” She fumed, but she jogged after him.

“As nuts as landing in the first place?” he called over his shoulder. “Weren’t you the one who promised me some answers?”

“It might be my fault that we’re here to begin with, but it’s your fault we are still here,” she said. Sean didn’t stop.

She grabbed his arm to stop him. “Would you wait?”

Sean spun to face her, jerking away from her grip. “I can’t,” he said.

Deanna stepped back, stunned by the need in his eyes.

“You have no idea what it’s like not to know,” he said, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.

His mahogany eyes were dry of any tears, but the naked vulnerability she saw in them made her own eyes fill. Her dad had always been an absent playboy. He loved his airplanes and the Alaskan wilderness more than he’d ever loved her. But as messed up as their relationship was, at least she knew he was alive. He called her a couple times a year to fill her in on what he was up to and where he was living.

Sean hadn’t heard his father’s voice in six years. He’d been a junior in high school the morning that Mel Loomis got up from the breakfast table and left their house, never to be seen again. What would it be like to have your father vanish without a single clue? It had all happened so long ago Deanna had forgotten about it until it had occurred to her as a means to get Sean to let her land the plane. Of course his son would never forget. For Sean, there would never be a break from the wondering.

“It’s not like I expected to find him here,” Sean said. “We’ve already had a funeral. At this point in my life, I just want to know what happened.”

Her need for self-preservation wrestled with her empathy.

“Okay,” she conceded. “We have to hurry.”

He didn’t say anything, but the gratitude was written all over his face. He turned, and she followed him to the shed, but there were no windows to see inside, and a dead bolt kept them from opening the door. Deanna tugged at it. “It’s locked.”

“Step back,” Sean said. He kicked the door hard. There was a sound of splintering wood, but the door held fast. He continued to side-kick it with his boot until the wood frame busted and the door swung wide open.

He grinned. “There—it’s not locked anymore.”

“I like your style, Loomis.”

Once they were inside, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. When she could see, she saw stacks of leather athletic bags and wooden crates.

“Are those sports bags?”

“Hockey, I think,” Sean said.

“Do you know anyone around here who plays hockey?”

Sean’s forehead creased. “No, I don’t.”

“Me neither. Especially not in July. What do you think is in them?”

“I’m not sure I want to know.” Sean grabbed the nearest one and unzipped it. He sucked in his breath, recoiling from the bag as if it were a rattlesnake that might strike. His hands went to the top of his head. “No, no, no, no.”

Deanna crouched to look. The bag was stuffed to capacity with gallon-sized baggies containing a sugar-like substance secured in bundles with duct tape.

“Oh, wow,” she whispered.

Sean grabbed another bag from a different pile. He unzipped it slowly. Deanna held on to his free arm and peered around him. She was afraid to look. It, too, was full of baggies, but these contained white pills. A third bag held green plants.

Deanna grabbed a crowbar off the floor. The crate lid whined as she pried it open. Tossing the large piece of wood aside, she looked inside the box and gasped.

“Sean, this is bad.”

There were enough automatic weapons and magazines inside the crate for a small army. Sean and Deanna stood side by side, completely still for several heartbeats, just staring. Deanna had never seen anything like this. She dropped the crowbar to the ground without bothering to put the lid back on the crate.

“Can we go now?” she whispered. Her question was drowned out by the rumble of approaching diesel engines and the crunch of gravel under tires outside the shed.

Even in the dim interior, Deanna could see Sean’s pupils expand. “Deanna?”

“Yes?” she choked out.

“Run.”


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

Bullets zinged around Sean as he sprinted for Deanna’s plane. He was only yards ahead of the pursuing men behind him, and they were catching up quickly. Midstride, Sean turned and used the pilot’s shotgun to send a warning shot at the closest man. As he pulled the trigger, recognition dawned. His pursuer was Rex Turner.

Rex owned the Wagon Wheel restaurant on Main Street in Kinakane. He was a tall man with a shiny bald head, a big belly and an even bigger smile. Sean’s bullet missed, and clods of earth exploded at Rex’s feet. Rex wasn’t smiling today.

How many more of the men behind him would Sean recognize? Were there others he considered friends or acquaintances, men he’d done business with, who were now determined to kill him because he knew too much?

Deep guttural shouts and revving truck engines clashed with the high-pitched pinging of the bullets spitting up dirt and grass around Sean’s feet, urging him forward. Some of the men had turned back for their vehicles and would reach them soon.

His lungs burned from the smoky air he inhaled and from the sheer exertion required to stay ahead of the men, their bullets and their quickly approaching trucks. He worried Deanna wouldn’t be able to keep up, but she was light and fast, and she didn’t miss a step.

“Don’t stop running until we’re in the plane,” he called to her. “Keep moving no matter what. It’s harder to hit a moving target.”

“You’re going to have to cover for me while I get the engine going,” Deanna huffed. She scrambled up the plane and into the cockpit. Bullets hit the wing above her, narrowly missing her. Sean ran to his side of the plane and climbed in, using the open door as a shield.

“I’ll cover you,” he panted. “You worry about getting us in the air.”

* * *

Deanna checked to make sure the fuel switch on the floor was on and then gave the prime a few shots. She eased the throttle partway in and then reached for the key. Her hands were shaking so violently it was hard to turn the ignition.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she pleaded.

Sean kept the door open as a barrier between him and the advancing men. He bobbed up and down, answering each of their shots with shots of his own. The closest man reached the plane and was grasping for Deanna’s door handle when the engine sputtered to life.

“Sean,” she yelled. “Get this guy off me.”

Deanna leaned forward, while Sean reached across her back, sticking the butt of the shotgun through the open window. He slammed it hard into the man’s nose. The man rolled away from the moving plane, bleeding but still alive.

“That was Greg Martin,” Sean said. She heard the shock in his voice, but there was no time to stop and process who was out there shooting at them.

“Time to go!” she shouted.

Deanna pushed the throttle all the way in, watching the airspeed indicator come to life. Sean fell back into his own seat, slamming his door closed.

“Come on, baby, faster,” she implored the plane as it rolled down the meadow. The seconds it took to gain speed felt like months. Sean didn’t say a word; his eyes were closed, his lips moving. Praying?

She used to pray all the time before her dad put the kibosh on it and convinced her it was useless. Gram was tight with God. Deanna suspected Gram spent countless hours on her knees praying for her backslidden granddaughter, but Deanna had made a decision a long time ago that she’d rely on no one but herself. Hopefully, Sean’s prayers would be enough for both of them.

They gained speed, and the nose of the plane tipped up, until finally, gravity pressed against her chest. A hot breeze from the open window on her left tickled her cheek. She held her breath as they continued climbing.

Sean’s eyes opened. “You did it,” he said and hit the ceiling in joy. “Deanna Jackson,” he chuckled, “you are amazing. I thought that was the end down there.”

“Not just me. You were amazing, too. I thought we were finished,” she admitted. Her voice sounded small in her headset.

Sean had fixed the mess that she had made. She might have gotten the plane off the ground, but she was still deep in his debt. She could now add him to the long list of people she owed something.

She couldn’t join in his celebrating yet. Too many unknowns still needled her. So many things to sort through, like “What do we do next?” She’d celebrate when they were on the ground at the airport and far away from this madness. Even then they wouldn’t be safe. Yes, they’d gotten in the air, but those men could find them easily in a town as small as Kinakane. Where could they hide?

Deanna frowned at the instrument panel. Both the right and left fuel gauges were dropping, fast enough to make her nervous. Kinakane’s airport was too rural for a traffic control tower. And if she put a Mayday out on the radio, that pilot in the meadow would be able to hear it and tell the men chasing them of their exact location.

They were on their own.

“I’ve got to head back for the airport,” Deanna said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He rested his head back. “We’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Yeah, me and my brilliant ideas.” Why wasn’t he yelling and accusing her of almost getting him killed? “I hope you don’t think I expect you to still pay me for this disaster.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m grateful,” he said, looking out the window. “If it weren’t for you, that could still be going on behind my back. I needed to know.”

She sighed. Instead of blaming her, he was thanking her. Sean had always been such a good guy, even when he was a little kid. If you thought Sean, you thought nice. No one would ever say that about her, that was for sure.

“Maybe it would be better not to know. You know, ignorance is bliss and all that.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You gave me a new lead to look into with Dad. I haven’t had one in years. I can’t wrap my head around him being involved in anything illegal. But what do I know? I thought he wasn’t the type to ever leave us, either.”

“Hopefully, this has nothing to do with him,” she said.

“Hopefully,” he agreed wistfully. “But I’d rather have the truth hurt than not know anything at all.”

* * *

Sean exhaled, his mind racing. He sorted everything that had happened into categories and tried to prioritize what to think about first. One thought kept rising to the surface, demanding that he think about it even if it hurt. Was his family involved in this in any way? Was it just coincidence that they were using Loomis-Callaghan land, or was Sean a fool who’d been intentionally kept in the dark?

And who were the others he was referring to, anyway? “Did you recognize anyone?” he asked Deanna.

“A few. I saw Rex Turner,” she said, frowning. “Our businesses are steps away from each other. I see him every day, and I eat my lunch at the Wagon Wheel a couple times a week at least. He’s always been so nice to me.”

Sean nodded. “And I think I broke Greg’s nose.”

“I can’t imagine Greg being involved in this. At least, I don’t want to imagine it.”

“Me neither.”

Greg Martin was one of their former classmates. He wasn’t someone either of them would have called a close friend, but definitely more than an acquaintance. Another twelve-year vet who’d started kindergarten with them. In school, Greg was the clown, the guy everyone liked because he made people laugh.

“I bought a fishing license from him at the hardware store last week,” Sean said. “I’ve been laughing all week at a joke he told me. I never would have guessed this.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to be finding out a lot more people we’d never expect are in on this,” Deanna said. “I wish I could unknow all this. If I could go back, I’d never land in that meadow.”

* * *

There had been something else Deanna saw down there that Sean should know, but he wasn’t going to like it. She cleared her throat, choosing her words carefully.

“You’re pretty tight with Sheriff Johnson, right?” she asked.

“Jim’s one of my best friends,” Sean said. “Why?”

“I saw the sheriff’s department decal on one of the trucks down there.”

She added quickly, “I didn’t see the sheriff. It just seemed strange that one of their vehicles would be anywhere near there.”

“Maybe they’re making an arrest,” Sean said.

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” she mumbled unconvinced, but her attention was back on the fuel situation. It was dropping rapidly.

“Uh, this isn’t looking good...”

Before she could say more, the noisy buzz of the engine went dead quiet. A small cry of alarm escaped her lips.

“What just happened?” Sean asked, his voice too loud against the silence.

Deanna shook her head. Her vocal cords rebelled, as if speaking it aloud would make the situation more real than it already was. She swallowed. She was the pilot. It was imperative that she keep her cool.

“Tighten your seat belt, Sean.”

His frightened gaze met hers.

“The fuel tanks in the wings must have been hit by the bullets,” she explained.

“Are you telling me we have no fuel?”

Deanna closed her eyes briefly, then forced herself to admit it. “We have no fuel and no working engine, either.”

She wished she and God were on better terms. Help me. It was all she knew to say. “You’re a religious man, right?”

“Religious isn’t exactly how I’d define it, but I guess you could say that.”

“Then I recommend you start praying.”

“Are we crashing?” He asked, his ever-steady voice finally wavering.

“No. We are not crashing,” Deanna insisted. “But get ready, because we are going down for an off-airport landing.”

“A what?”

She pointed out the window. “See that alfalfa field?”

“Yes. I own it.”

“Well, now it’s our new airport.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was.” She met his gaze again. “Brace yourself.”


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

A tangible silence sat between Deanna and Sean like another passenger as the plane glided noiselessly toward the ground. Sean prayed but kept his eyes wide open. If death was near, he wanted to see it coming. Would Dad be waiting for him on the other side?

Deanna aimed for the field below. For the second time in a day, she would be landing on Loomis land. And for the second time that day, Sean wondered if he would survive it when she did.

He’d plowed and planted this field himself. This alfalfa would become the hay they needed to feed livestock during the long winter months ahead when grazing wouldn’t be an option. The plants were nearly ready for second cutting. How much damage to his crops were they about to do? Would he be alive to even care, or had all that work last spring been simply the preparation of his own grave?

The twenty-acre field sat atop a plateau and wrapped around a brush-filled ravine that was too steep to farm. Somehow Deanna would need to land in the impossibly narrow strip between the sprinkler lines on the left and the timberline on the right without hitting the ravine.

At the far end of the field, Uncle Paul’s farmhouse sat tall and white, the only spectator to the event. Sean’s breathing shallowed as helplessness enveloped him. He watched the ground and the possibility of death come closer and closer.

Sean had always been a doer. He preferred keeping his ducks neatly in a row so life couldn’t surprise him. He hated surprises. But life had a mind of its own and seemed to enjoy humbling him. Live or die here, it wasn’t his call. Sean could do nothing but trust God and the skill He’d given Deanna.

In the final moments of descent, Deanna barked orders. “Get your seat up and make sure your belt is tight. This is going to sound crazy, but when I get close to the ground, I want you to open your door.”

“What?”

“You won’t fall out. Trust your seat belt. If the cockpit gets crunched on impact, the doors could get jammed shut. Plus, we might need to jump out fast.” She pointed behind her seat. “See that backpack? I’ve got an old jacket in there. I need you to use it to cover up the latch so the door can’t swing back and close itself again.”

If he didn’t worry that arguing with her would distract her, he would say more. It was counterintuitive to open his door when they were about to crash. But she was the pilot, and she knew best, so he kept his mouth shut and followed her instructions. Lord, please help us live through this.

The field came at them fast. What would the moment of touchdown feel like? The alfalfa looked like green grass and stood a foot to a foot and a half tall. It appeared lush and soft, level even, but it only hid how uneven and rock hard the ground would be underneath it. Would there be an explosion when they hit the ground or would pieces of the plane—and pieces of them—scatter? They needed a smooth, paved airport runway. He’d even choose the steep mountainside landing strip they’d just used over this bumpy, narrow slot of hay.

“Do it now,” Deanna instructed. “Open your door.”

Fighting every instinct, Sean pressed open the passenger door, revealing the speeding ground below, and flung the jacket over the door latch.

“Watch out for the irrigation circles,” he hollered.

“I see them,” Deanna said between clenched teeth.

Sean wanted to yell “Pause” or “Wait” or “I’m not ready.” All would be useless. The ground kept coming closer and closer, and then impact. Hitting hard, the plane bounced across the rutted ground, flattening surrounding plants. The plane’s wing clipped the closest irrigation line, sending the aluminum structure flying. The complaining sound of breaking metal hit Sean’s ears. Was that the sprinkler line or pieces of the plane busting up? His body rocked and rolled with the bucking airplane. It was like riding a bull. Hold on for the eight seconds and then he’d be able to get out and kiss the ground.

The field wasn’t an airport and no one could have ever imagined that it would be used as one, but at least the space ahead was all clear. Deanna had touched down on the open strip and now nothing hindered their progress—no trees, no houses closer than Uncle Paul’s in the distance, not even a tractor got in their way.

They would survive.

As the plane decelerated, then slowed and then stopped, they sat still, gulping deep breaths.

“You alive?” Deanna asked, her eyes closed.

Sean patted down his arms and legs, opened and closed his hands. Did everything still work?

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Well, I’m talking, so I must be.” Deanna leaned her forehead against the instrument panel, continuing to suck in ragged inhales. Her hands were shaking.

Sean put one of her shaking hands between his larger ones. “You did it again, Deanna.” He squeezed, trying to express his gratitude and his admiration of her. “It’s going to be a long time before I fly in anything smaller than a 747. But if I do, I want you to be my pilot.”

She lifted her head and offered him a wavering smile. “This baby won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.” Then she moaned. “I don’t want to go out there and see the damage to my plane.”

“Well, I don’t want to see the damage you did to my hay crop, either,” Sean said, fake-punching her on the arm. “I’ll send you the bill.”

The joke fell flat. “Hey.” He stretched his arm around her for a quick side hug. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know that. Just give me a minute to believe it.”

“I wish I had a minute to give you, but we’ve got to get moving. We were recognized back there and with that many men, they’ve spread out. They might’ve even seen us land here.”

“Well, we can’t fly away. We have no fuel, and I’m sure the plane is too beat up.”

Sean doubted she could get him back in the air anyway, but he didn’t admit it aloud.

Deanna added, “She’ll have to sit in your field awhile until I can come back for her. I’m sorry.”

He pointed toward the distant farmhouse. “That’s my uncle’s place. He’s probably not home, but we can borrow a vehicle and try his landline.”

* * *

The door to the farmhouse wasn’t locked. It never was. As they entered the kitchen, Sean grimaced at the mess but his stomach growled. He had missed breakfast with Uncle Paul and the crew this morning, and it looked like he’d missed a feast.

Remains of the hearty morning meal were scattered everywhere. Pans, now white from the cooled grease of goose sausage and fried eggs, sat unmoved on the stove. Heavy-duty paper plates—Uncle Paul’s idea of fine china—littered the rickety oak table, while crumbs and buttered knives from hastily made toast decorated the countertop. The crew had eaten well this morning.

“Uncle Paul, you here?” Sean called, but he knew his uncle was out working. Hopefully, getting the last of the cattle rounded up. Something Sean should be helping them with.

Despite how desperate he was to get Deanna back to town in one piece, there was something about this place that made him smile. He spent more time in this kitchen than in the one in his own house because Uncle Paul was a better cook.

After his father disappeared and then Uncle Paul’s marriage failed shortly after, Paul had thrown himself all the more into being there for Sean. Uncle Paul, Sean and Sean’s mother had leaned on each other hard during those early years, supporting each other through their grief. Uncle Paul had become the mentor and father figure Sean had needed. They’d had plenty of heart-to-hearts sitting at that oak table drinking coffee.

Deanna stood by the kitchen door waiting, reminding Sean there wasn’t time for reminiscing like this.

“Sorry about the mess,” Sean apologized. “Uncle Paul can cook like no one you’ve ever known, but he’s allergic to cleaning.”

Sean lifted the ancient wall-mounted phone—probably the last left in the county—and listened for a dial tone. Nothing.

“Wish my cell worked,” he said, placing the heavy receiver back into its cradle. “We’ve never had dependable service up here as it is, but now cell, internet, landlines, they’re all gone. We’ve been cut off for two days.”

“Service has been patchy in town, too,” Deanna said. “Depending on where you’re at. Some parts of town have the newer phone lines buried underground. We should be able to find a phone to use once we get back to town.”

Pawing through the junk drawer under the phone, Sean found the key ring he was looking for. “Follow me.”

He led Deanna to the detached building at the end of the short breezeway outside the kitchen and shouldered open the old door, releasing the garage’s signature scent of diesel fuel and WD-40 spray. He reached inside and slapped around for the light switch on the interior wall.

Light flooded the small space. He kicked an empty coffee can out of his way and ushered Deanna inside, waving his hand at the rusted Ford pickup parked in front of them.

“It ain’t pretty, but it should get us back to town,” he said.

“I’m not picky,” Deanna said.

The truck was ancient. It had been old in 1970. They only used it for work around the ranch, but it was transportation, and they had to get back to town somehow. Hopefully, it wouldn’t die on them before they got there. Sean wrenched open the whining metal passenger door.

“Your chariot awaits,” he said to Deanna with a slight bow.

She rolled her eyes. “You mean the Beast awaits.”

“I thought you said you weren’t picky.”

He walked around to his own side and was about to slide into the driver’s seat when a familiar noise stopped him. Diesel engines, slamming doors, angry voices. His stomach sank to the floor.

Sean ran to the filmy window and peered out.

Deanna opened her door. “What’s going...”

“Shh, they found us,” he whispered.

Out the window, he watched the first truck pull up into the driveway. Rex Turner, along with the pilot and one other guy Sean didn’t recognize, exited the truck, their weapons raised. Sean wondered how long they’d left Nathan Reid in that duct tape before they freed him. Or had he figured out how to get out of it himself?

The men in the meadow must have split up into search groups, and this group had been assigned his uncle’s place. Sean was glad he wasn’t facing all those men at once, but fighting Nathan Reid the first time around had been hard enough. Now Reid had two other men to back him up, and they were all armed.

“See ’em anywhere?” Rex’s muffled voice asked. He stepped into Sean’s line of sight. Rex seemed to be in charge of the small group.

“Not yet,” Reid answered him.

“What do we do when we find them?” asked the third man.

“We leave no witnesses,” Turner answered.

His voice lowered in volume, making it more difficult for Sean to hear through the garage walls. But it was the last part he heard that mattered.

“You find them,” Turner commanded. “You shoot them. It’s that simple.”

* * *

Deanna groaned softly. She and Sean had escaped one cage today only to find themselves in another one.

She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. It had been only the span of an afternoon, but she was battle weary, tired of fighting to stay alive. How good would it feel to be back in Kinakane with Gram making coffee, with nothing bigger to worry about than money and Blake. The things that had weighed her down back at The Hangar earlier today seemed so trivial now. Bankruptcy didn’t seem that scary anymore. Even the fires seemed farther away. Being shot at had a way of putting life back into proper perspective.

There had to be some way to let someone know what was happening to them. But there wasn’t. Without phones, they couldn’t even dial 911. She thought of Harley Hopkins and how helpless and panicked he must have felt out in Scotch Creek when he was having his heart attack, unable to call for help.

No superhero or police officer was going to come crashing in to save the day here, either. Their only hope was themselves.

Wasn’t that true about life in general anyway? She was responsible for fixing her own messes. This mess just happened to have higher stakes than she was used to. It was bigger than she knew how to fix.

Her dad had tried to drill that lesson into her. “You need to have the skills to take care of yourself,” he told her. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and if you are going to survive in it, you have to look out for number one.”

He might be the king of clichés, but he’d gotten his point across. And when she was only five years old, he gave her plenty of practice at being independent. He was tired of Kinakane and restless. Alaska called to him, as he put it. When the right job offer finally came through, he left her with Gram.

“It’s just a job, Dee-girl. I’ll be back soon,” he promised. He kept up the pretense for about a year, sending her scenic postcards of the Alaskan wilderness with even more promises, “Looking at all this beauty reminds me of my beautiful girl. I’ll be home soon, sweetheart.”

But “soon” never came, and she’d quickly learned that he was right. She couldn’t count on anyone but herself. She squared her shoulders. She would not be a damsel in distress here, either. Time to save herself.

Sean scratched the side of his head. “We need a plan.”

“No, we need to get out of here.”

“I know, but as soon as I open this garage door, they’ll be on us.”

“We can make all the plans we want, but it’s time to choose. Sit in here and wait or take charge.” She put her hands on her hips and tried to stand taller. “We need to take the power back,” she said. “Otherwise we might as well go out there and hand ourselves over now.”

Sean’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all good in theory. But you still haven’t given me anything we can act on. They’ve got orders to silence us. They’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

The shotgun that Sean took off Nathan Reid had been left behind inside his uncle’s house. Without any shells, it wasn’t worth lugging around, but Deanna still had her Glock, and she’d reloaded it before they left the airplane. She had about eight rounds. Was that enough to shoot their way out in a blaze of glory?

The walls hiding them from the armed men were thin and uninsulated. She could hear them coming closer. Her gaze jerked over to the truck. “What if we don’t open the garage door at all?”

“You mean stay in here?” Sean spun around like he was playing a game of hide-and-seek, looking for the best hiding spot.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “What if...” She hesitated. This was action-movie, stuntman-type stuff she was thinking up. “What if we gun the truck and bust through the garage door?”

Sean blinked at her, the expression on his face dumbfounded. He probably thought she was insane. But he’d been thinking that all day.

“What?” she challenged. He wasn’t coming up with any better ideas. “You have to admit it would give us that element of surprise you’re always talking about.”

A slow smile spread across his tan face, softening the chiseled stone. He really did have an amazing smile.

“You are certifiable, you know that?” Sean said.

“You’ve told me that a couple times today. Looks to me like doing something crazy is our only option.”

She patted the truck’s hood gently. “You’re not afraid of letting this beast get a few scrapes, are you?” she whispered.

“Get in,” Sean said.

Deanna settled into her seat, easing the truck door shut as quietly as she could.

Sean chuckled softly. “What is it you like to say? Hold on? Get ready? Oh, I know.” He winked. “Brace yourself, Deanna. This might be a bumpy ride.”

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. You know there are guys out there with guns that want to kill us, right? You could get going anytime now.”

Sean pushed the key into the ignition and turned a satisfied smirk toward her. “It’s just nice to be in the driver’s seat for once.”

“Don’t get used to it, cowboy.” Deanna stared at the solid wall in front of them. She did not like being in the passenger seat like this. Her idea had felt more right in theory than it did in actual execution.

“Oh man. You were right. This really is nuts,” she whispered.

“Nah, I prefer to think of it as being brave,” Sean whispered back. “Ready?”

No, but she nodded anyway. The engine growled a few sleepy grumbles before it finally roared to life.

“Here we go!” Sean hollered, slamming his boot against the accelerator.

Deanna jerked backward, held hard against the ripped upholstery as the truck lurched forward, punching a hole through the old garage door. Pieces of broken wood and splinters flew around them as the old Ford broke free. It was easier than she’d thought, like a football team running through a butcher-paper sign before a high school game.

The shocked expressions on the men’s faces probably mirrored her own. Rex Turner had approximately two seconds to dive out of their way to avoid getting run over. Profanity rang through the air as the three men scrambled to start the pursuit.





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