Hart, Catherine

by Impulsive

  Tom stepped back, eyeing his work with satisfaction. "That's better. Now I know you won't be giving me any trouble. No more than old Jimbo will. He's out like a light, thanks to those sleeping tablets I dissolved in the coffee."

  "Who... who's flying the plane?" Jess asked, her words slurred.

  "Ever hear of autopilot, little girl?"

  "But..." She focused on him fuzzily. Tom had his duffel bag open on one of the tables and was pulling some sort of padded coverall from it. "Whatcha need that for?"

  "I'll give you three guesses. The first two don't count. Here's a clue, Jessie. It's called a jumpsuit. And this"—he hoisted a thick backpack—"is a parachute."

  "You're gonna jump?" Ty's words, too, were slow in emerging.

  "Right."

  Jess yanked at the tape binding her arms. "Why, Tommy? What's going on?"

  Tom smiled. "I thought you'd have figured that out by now, smart gal that you are. Then again, you weren't smart enough to back off when I warned you to. Now, you're going to have to pay the consequences. You and lover boy, here."

  His words finally jarred something in her brain. "You're... you're the one," she exclaimed softly, a look of horror coming over her face. "You're the killer."

  "Oh, I can't take all the credit," he replied smoothly. He stuffed one leg into the jumpsuit, then the other. "Johnson carried out most of the legwork, at least to start with. But, you already knew that, didn't you?"

  "You killed him," she surmised.

  "I had to. The cops were after him, and he would have pointed them toward me."

  "The spa. You locked us in? Did you cut my brake line, too?"

  He nodded, appearing proud of himself. "Surprising what you can learn on the Internet these days. Even how to rig a letter bomb, or in this case, a flower box bomb."

  Jess gasped, her face going white.

  "Why?" Ty growled. "Why kill Jess? Or any of us?"

  "Basically, it all boils down to money," Tom confessed as he zipped up the front of the suit and reached for the parachute pack. "You might say I overextended myself. I need a tax write-off in the worst way. The Knights go under, I get one. Anita dies, I get the insurance, and can pay back the 'loan' I took out at the bank before it's discovered in the next audit. I also altered that policy Jess has with the team. After you, Tyler, I'm her designated beneficiary. Not dear, fickle Claudia."

  "Is that what all this is?" Jess surmised incredulously, her voice shrill with fear. "A payback because Mom chose Dad and John over you?"

  "That's the frosting on the cake," Tom admitted. He shrugged into the parachute. "Your death is going to be a terrible blow to her, Jessie. Just as your father's and brother's were. It's no less than she deserves."

  "You can't do this, Nelson," Ty declared, fighting against his bonds.

  Tom's laugh was pure evil. "Who's going to stop me?"

  "They'll know this wasn't an accident. When they only find three bodies, they'll know it was you."

  "But nobody else saw me come aboard," Tom gloated. "I made sure of that. As far as anyone knows, I'm hiding away, licking my wounds. Just a poor, heartbroken widower." From the duffel, he took a helmet, tugging it on. "Now, let me lay it out for you. As I said, the plane is on autopilot. If it doesn't collide in midair with another aircraft, you'll stay airborne until it runs out of fuel. I dumped most of that, by the way." He chuckled. "Oh, and don't worry about not being able to reach the oxygen masks. We're flying at a lower altitude, as well as a slower speed, to make my jump easier. After all, I haven't done this since my Air Force days."

  He reached out to stroke Jess on the cheek, shaking his head at her when she pulled back from him. "Believe it or not, I really am sorry it's come to this, Jessie. If you would just have heeded my warnings. Forsyth talked me into hiring you for that article. I'd hoped you'd make fast work of it and be gone. But you had to stay and stick your nose in where it didn't belong. Sooner or later, you would have caught on to me. I knew it the minute I reviewed your computer discs."

  Tears coursed down her face, blurring her image of him even more. "No, Tommy. Please," she begged. "Don't do this to me. To Ty."

  "You won't feel a thing," he told her, his tone soft and loving. "By the time the plane goes down, you'll both be fast asleep. I promise." He started for the back of the plane and the rear door. "Give my regards to Anita when you see her."

  They were screaming after him as he unlatched the door and shoved it open. Wind rushed into the plane with a roar, sending debris flying through the interior ahead of it. Tom stumbled backward, before catching hold of the frame. Then he propelled himself through the opening and vanished.

  "Oh, God! Oh, God!" Jess was praying between hysterical sobs.

  Beside her, Ty was applying all his strength against that of the tape. "Jess! Jess! Listen to me! We've got to get loose, before we pass out."

  "H... How? There's no way!"

  "That glass coffee container," he shouted over the wind. "It's right there in front of you. Can you reach it?"

  Not understanding, she wiggled her fingers toward the carafe, which had blown to the edge of the table and was about to tumble off.

  "No, Jess! Bend forward. Grab it with your teeth."

  She caught the handle in her mouth, just as the glass pot was about to slide into her lap.

  "Knock it against the table. Break it," Ty told her.

  Jess squeezed her eyes shut. What were a few cuts, compared to the pile of blood and bones she was bound to be after the crash? Lunging forward, she rapped the carafe as hard as she could against the edge of the table. It shattered, sending shards flying back at her. At the same time, the plastic handle slammed painfully against her lips and teeth. Though she tried, she couldn't hold on to it. It fell into her lap.

  "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she wailed.

  "It's okay, Jess. Open your eyes. Help me here, babe."

  "I'm tired. So tired."

  "Don't conk out on me, Jess. See if you can reach it with your fingers."

  She had to bounce her knees to jiggle the handle close enough, but she finally managed to grasp it.

  "Good. Swivel your chair toward mine a bit. There. Now, aim that metal ring my way, as close to my arm as you can reach. C'mon, Jess! Stretch! Don't let go of the handle, whatever you do!"

  They strained toward each other. The band barely reached the distance between them, just touching the side of Ty's chair. "Now, hold it as steady as you can."

  Wobbling to and fro, swiveling his own chair frantically, Ty scraped his forearm back and forth against the sharp edge of the aluminum hoop. Bit by bit, the tape began to fray, until it loosened enough for Ty to pull his hand free. And not a moment too soon. The handle slipped from Jess's limp grasp as she slumped forward, succumbing at last to the drugged coffee.

  Working left-handed, it took Ty longer than he wanted to free his right hand. Then, as much as he wanted to do the same for Jess, he dared not take the time. He was getting more and more woozy, and Lord only knew how long they had before the fuel ran out.

  Bracing himself, Ty made his way to the cockpit. Jim, the pilot, was slouched in his seat. Ty shook him, slapped him, yelled into his ear. It was no use.

  He turned toward the instrument panel, trying to quell his panic as he scanned the complicated array of knobs and dials. The only thing he recognized was a microphone, similar to the one in the police cruiser. Picking it up, he pressed the button and screamed into the mouthpiece. "Mayday! Mayday! Can anybody hear me?"

  Nothing. Dead silence. There was a numbered dial near the cord. He turned it and tried again. And again. Finally he hit a channel in use. "Mayday!" he yelled. "Mayday!"

  "This is South Bend tower. What's your situation?"

  Ty wasted no words. "We're aboard a small jet. Low on fuel. Pilot unconscious. On autopilot, I think."

  "Do you know your call letters? Your coordinates? Your altitude?"

  "I don't know jack shit, except that we're going to crash!"

  "Okay, bu
ddy. Calm down. Now, are you in the pilot's seat?"

  "No, the copilot's." Ty launched himself into the seat.

  "There should be a headset there. Do you see it?"

  "Yes! Yes!"

  "Put it on. Can you hear me?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. I can read you, too. You can let loose of the mike now. Who am I talking to?"

  "Ty James."

  For once, the man didn't ask if he was Ty James, the quarterback. "Have you ever flown a plane before, Ty?"

  "Not in this lifetime," Ty replied shakily.

  "We're going to walk you through it, step by step," the voice assured him. He went on to tell Ty where to find the readings he needed in order to determine the location and altitude of the jet. "Gotcha. You're on my screen. Now, you're headed due west. We need to correct that. Here's what you have to do."

  Ty located the switch that would take the plane out of autopilot and put it in his control—or lack thereof. Feeling as if he was disconnecting his own umbilical cord, he grabbed hold of the "stick" and flipped the switch. The plane tilted sharply to the side, nearly unseating him.

  "Whoa!" the radio voice said. "Easy does it." Swiftly, he instructed Ty how to level off again. "Keep the 'wings' on that dial level with the horizon line."

  The next quarter of an hour was the longest and most frightening of Ty's life. He was functioning on pure adrenaline, relying on it to counteract the drugs in his system. From what he relayed to them, the tower confirmed that the plane was nearly out of fuel. With luck and a tailwind, they might have enough to make the nearest airfield. If not... Ty didn't even want to think about it.

  "Hey, fella?"

  "Stan."

  "Stan, I forgot to tell you something important. I'm about to pass out, too. It was the coffee. Laced with sleeping pills. Tom Nelson did it. He bailed out a ways back. Call Detective Haggardy. Columbus Police Department."

  "Later. Let's get you down, first. Then you can call him yourself. Just stay with me, Ty. Not much longer. You're almost there."

  Three minutes later, Stan reported, "I don't think you have to worry about that Nelson guy anymore. We just got word about a man smashing through a barn roof about thirty miles east of here. His parachute failed to open."

  "He's dead?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Couldn't have happened to a more deserving bastard," Ty claimed tersely.

  At last, Ty spied the landing strip. His stomach clenched itself into knots.

  "Just do what I tell you, Ty," Stan said. "That baby can practically land herself, but she needs a little help from you."

  "I... I'm fading fast," Ty warned. "Can hardly see the... dials."

  "Pull yourself together, man!" Stan yelled. "Concentrate! You can do this! Just hang on a few more minutes!"

  "Trying to," Ty murmured.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion from then on. Ty saw his hands moving to do as Stan directed, but they seemed to be moving of their own volition, not under any conscious command from his brain. He saw the wings tip, and straighten. He heard the thump of the landing gear as it locked into place. He saw the emergency equipment lined up along the runway, their bright lights flashing. Last, he felt the lurch as the plane touched down, heard the squeal of rubber tires skidding against tarmac.

  He tried to hold out—wanted to see how it all ended, if they made it through unscathed—but he just couldn't muster that final ounce of energy. His lids drifted shut; his head nodded onto his chest. He knew no more.

  The ceremony was simple, solemn, sincere. The guest list had been pared to the bare minimum, yet the church was packed beyond its capacity. Claudia clutched at John's hand, mopping her tears with the handkerchief wadded in the other. Across the aisle, Maggie James held her hand to her chest, her emotions running high. Beside her, Wes gazed intently toward the altar.

  "I now pronounce you husband and wife," the pastor intoned. "You may kiss your bride."

  Ty drew Jess into his arms and kissed her with all the love and longing in his heart. Jess melted against him, her happy heartbeats matching his. When at last they parted, to gaze adoringly into each other's eyes, the minister was announcing proudly, "May I be the first to present to those of you assembled here today... Tyler and Jessie James."

  Jess's mouth flew open. The congregated guests burst into laughing applause. Ty grinned.

  "You horse's rear! You told him to do that, didn't you?" Jess swatted at him with her bouquet.

  "You bet your sweet bippy," Ty admitted without a hint of remorse.

  "I'll get you for this," she promised, her eyes narrowed in warning.

  "Now, Jess, I have witnesses, about five hundred of them, who just heard you pledge to honor and cherish me," he reminded her with a chuckle.

  "Wagara."

  "Meaning?"

  She told him at long last. "Who Actually Gives A Rat's Ass?"

  His blue eyes twinkled. "I do. You do. Everyone heard us both say we do. Our vows, remember?"

  She gave an exasperated huff. "That's what I get for wanting a traditional wedding. And for being such an impetuous, love-struck fool."

  "You know the old saying, 'Marry in haste, repent at leisure.' Well, sweetheart, we've got a lifetime ahead of us for that and a lot more. By the way, have I told you yet today how beautiful you are?"

  "You do throw a smooth pass," she conceded with a wry smile. "Just remember... I kick balls."

  "Yeah, but I get to call all the plays, don't forget."

  "Your saving grace is that you're great in the sack," she informed him with a smirk.

  "So are you." He offered her his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. They headed down the aisle, Gabe and Corey falling into line behind them.

  "Jessie James!" she muttered anew. "Honestly, Ty! How could you?"

  "Stick a sock in it, babe."

  "Gladly, super jock. Bend over and show me some teeth."

  He shut her up the best way he knew how. Without missing a beat, he swept her into his arms and clamped his mouth over hers. The crowd cheered.

  Josh, mindful of his role as ring bearer and all-around "best son," scurried to grab Jess's trailing train and hold it off the floor. He strutted importantly along in their wake, with a wide, gap-toothed grin.

  Claudia followed John out of the pew. She dabbed at her damp eyes, offering him a misty smile. "Like I told you, John. Those two were made for each other."

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31