"Captain Volero?" Diego asked, as they drew near. "May we speak to you for a moment?"
The captain looked up, giving them an inquiring look. "If you're on the next flight, we're not leaving for a half hour."
"We actually wanted to talk to you about a flight to Cartagena last Saturday," Diego said. "There was a woman on it, Bethany Cooper. She's an American, an attractive brunette with green eyes and a big smile—twenty-six years old."
The captain nodded. "I remember Bethany. She's flown with me a few times. Is there a problem?"
"She's missing," Tara put in. "She's a good friend of mine, and no one has heard from her in weeks. Can you tell us why she was going to Cartagena? Did she share her plans?"
"She said she was meeting friends. She was excited we'd had a last-minute cancellation."
"Have you seen or spoken to her since?"
"No, sorry," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I need to make a call before my flight."
As the captain headed toward the terminal, she blew out a frustrated breath. "What now? Should we wait until he comes back and press him some more?"
"I'm not sure what we'd get out of him. She was a passenger. They might not have spoken beyond a few words before takeoff or after landing. But this is still good, Tara. We have confirmation that Bethany flew to Cartagena last Saturday. That's a new lead. It turns the search in an entirely different direction."
He was right, but she wanted more. She wanted to see Bethany. She wanted to know that she was all right, and that still hadn't happened.
A roar of engines drew her gaze toward the road leading up to the airport where a black SUV was speeding down the highway.
"Shit!" Diego swore.
"Who is that?"
"No one good," he said grimly. "I have a feeling I know who the captain went to call."
"Seriously?" she asked in shock.
"There's no way we're getting past them."
"There has to be something we can do." Terror ran through her as a truck roared down the road behind the SUV.
"Get in the plane." Diego grabbed her by the arm and shoved her toward the steps.
She scrambled into the plane, noting four empty seats behind the small cockpit where the pilot and copilot sat.
"We can't fly this without the pilot, and he's not here," she said, as Diego climbed on board and pulled the door closed.
"I can fly it." Diego moved quickly into the pilot's seat. He hit several buttons and the engine started, the propellers beginning to twist.
"Sit up here." He urged her toward the seat where the copilot would sit.
"Are you serious?"
"Sit," he ordered.
Looking out the window, she saw two men come through the terminal door with guns drawn.
She instinctively ducked as shots were fired at the plane. "Is this thing bulletproof?" she yelled, as Diego worked on the controls, and she tried to fasten her seat belt with shaky hands.
"Not even close," he said. "Hang on."
Nine
Fear ripped through Tara, as the plane rolled down the runway. They were moving too slowly. A bullet cracked the window behind her, and she ducked down in her seat. "Are we going to make it?"
Diego didn't answer, as he focused on getting the plane into the air. As they neared the end of the runway, she felt more panic. There was nothing but dirt and rocks and trees in front of them.
And then suddenly they were airborne. She couldn't breathe for at least a minute. Her heart was pounding against her chest. Her eyes were half-closed. She was both afraid to look and afraid not to look. Finally, she managed to squeeze her lids open. She looked out the window as they climbed high above the trees.
"Oh, my God," she said. "We're flying."
"Did you have any doubt?" Diego asked with a triumphant grin.
"I had a million doubts. But we're okay." She paused. "We are okay, aren't we?"
"We're great. Thank God, this plane is just like the one my grandpa used when he taught me how to fly. What are the odds?"
"Pretty long." She drew in a deep breath and held it, then slowly exhaled.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Barely. I can't believe we stole a plane. Is someone coming after us? What's going to happen when we land? Will we be arrested?"
"Not if I can help it."
"Are we going to Cartagena?"
"No. We need to find somewhere less populated to put this plane down."
"Wait, somewhere less populated? You're still talking about an airport, right?"
"Maybe not. This baby can land on a road if needed."
"Are you crazy, Diego? We can't land on a road."
"Don't worry about it."
"I can't stop worrying."
He flashed her a reassuring smile. "Don't be scared, Tara. I've got this."
As they drew closer to a range of small mountains, she had another worry. "Shouldn't we go higher?"
"I'm trying to stay under the radar."
She shook her head in bemusement, feeling completely overwhelmed by the situation. "I can't believe this is happening. I do not understand how I ended up here."
"You went looking for Bethany. That's how you ended up here."
"Those men who came after us—they had to be Salazars, right?"
"Or hired by the family."
"How did they know we were at the airfield?"
Diego's jaw tightened. "The pilot or the receptionist might have called someone."
"But they would have had to be close by."
"I'm sure there are Salazars or members of their organization operating in Medellin. Hell, that airfield could have been owned and operated by the family. They fly private jets all over the country. Or we might have been followed from the apartment. I didn't see a tail, but it could have happened."
As the plane hit a patch of bumpy air, she hung on to the arm of her seat, feeling nauseous. "This might not be the best time to tell you this, but I don't really like to fly. Sometimes I get airsick."
"Well, try not to throw up on me."
"I'm trying not to throw up at all." She swallowed back another wave of queasiness. She needed a distraction. "You said your grandfather taught you to fly? Was that your dad's father?"
"Actually, my dad's stepfather. He was a Navy pilot and after the service, he taught flying at a small airport and did crop dusting in Virginia. When I was a sad, angry teenager, he got me up in a plane, and it helped me to breathe. Being up in the sky was the only thing that made me feel better. He let me rant about my dad, who he didn't particularly like, either, and it saved my sanity. Unfortunately, he died when I was sixteen, and the lessons stopped."
"I'm surprised you didn't become a pilot when you went into the service."
"I thought about going into the Air Force, but I wanted to be more immersed in the action. I didn't want to fly above it. I needed to be so focused on staying alive, I couldn't think about anything else."
His words revealed the depth of his teenage despair. She was really glad he'd had an outlet, especially since those flying lessons had probably saved their lives—at least for the moment.
Her momentary peace was interrupted by a flashing light and a beeping sound coming from the control panel. She'd been trying not to look at the panel, which was in front of her as well as in front of Diego.
"What's that?" she asked.
"The fuel is leaking. A bullet must have hit the tank."
"We're running out of gas? What are we going to do now?"
"We have a little time. We'll get as far away from Medellin as we can and then set the plane down."
"How can you sound so calm?"
"I'm working the problem. It's easier to focus if I don't get carried away with all the possible scenarios."
"Like crashing and dying?" she asked in a voice pitched high from fear.
"Like that," he said. "Breathe, Tara."
"Did I tell you how much I don't like risk?"
"Yes, and I told you how strong you really
are. You can do this."
"What? Hang on? Because right now, I have no control over anything."
"I'm sure that's scary. But you have to try to trust me. Why don't you look out the window and see if you can locate any potential landing spots?"
She forced air into her lungs and then looked out the window. All she could see in front of her were mountains and trees and Colombian jungle. "I don't see any roads down there."
"We'll find something."
"Will we?" She racked her brain, trying to remember what she knew about Colombian geography. "I know it's an hour flight from Medellin to Cartagena, maybe longer in a plane like this. But are we even going in that direction?"
"We are," he confirmed, checking the panel in front of him.
She glanced down at her watch. "We've been flying about fifteen minutes. Although, it feels like fifteen hours."
"Hey, I'm not that bad of a pilot," he said lightly.
"I'll make that judgment when we're safely on the ground. How are we going to get to Cartagena if we land in the middle of nowhere?"
"That's the next problem. Let's deal with this one first. I know you're scared, Tara. But we're going to make it."
"I like your confidence. I don't know if I believe it, but I want to."
"Then go with that feeling. We may not be in the best situation, but we're better than we were back at the airfield."
"They're going to follow us to Cartagena. The pilot will tell them what he told us. They'll know where we're headed."
"Again—that's a problem for later."
She knew it made sense not to think too far ahead, but she couldn't help it. "Last week I was teaching Spanish to a bunch of bored high school kids, and now I'm about to crash-land in the Colombian jungle."
"Let's leave the word crash out of the conversation." He paused. "Do you like being a teacher?"
"I—I can't talk about that right now."
"Yes, you can. Tell me."
She licked her lips. "Okay, I like teaching. I love the kids. They're at that crazy age between childhood and adulthood, and every day is filled with drama." She knew Diego was trying to distract her, and since she wanted to think about something else besides burning wreckage, she went along with it. "For all the kids' sarcasm and bravado, there's also innocence, joy and wonder. I like being around that. I like opening up their world even more by teaching them a new language, a different culture. Not that all, or even most, of them appreciate it. They have to take a foreign language if they want to get into college. Sometimes, they do the bare minimum. But for those few who really want to learn, it's fun."
"I'll bet they're missing you right now."
"And I am really missing them. I was hesitant to take leave, because I didn't want to let the kids down, especially the juniors and seniors, who are applying for college or getting ready to graduate this year. But I had to put Bethany first."
"Yes, you did." He cleared his throat. "We're going to need to set this plane down soon, Tara."
She stiffened. "We're almost out of gas?"
"Let's just say we really need to find somewhere to land. I'm going to take us down a little lower. Tell me what you see."
"Nothing but trees, lots and lots of trees. There might be a road to the right." She strained to see if the winding path was really a road or simply an illusion.
"I see it. It's not too far away."
"It looks like there's a town beyond it—maybe."
The engine started to splutter, and her heart stopped. "We don't have enough gas to make it to the road, do we?"
"No, but that canopy of trees will work."
"How is landing in the trees going to work?" she shouted.
"Trust me. My step-grandpa told me he did this once in Vietnam."
"I don't want to die, Diego."
"We're not going to die. But if you want to say a prayer, I won't stop you."
She was hanging on to the arms of her seat as tightly as she could, praying to God to save their lives.
Diego slowed the plane down as he went lower and lower.
And then they were skimming across trees, bumping along the branches.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the plane bounced and spun. It was so loud. Everything was breaking around her.
An enormous force flung her body forward. Her head hit something. Pain rocketed through her, and then she felt nothing at all…
* * *
Diego's eyes flew open. He felt dazed, disoriented, and everything looked green. It took a second for him to realize that he was in a plane, that those were tree branches covering the window. The plane was at a slant, tilted slightly upward. But it was in one piece, and so was he. He did a mental check. There was blood on his hands and glass all around him, but there was no particular pain.
Turning his head, his momentary relief faded as he saw Tara slumped to one side. She was unconscious and there was blood on her face. He ripped off his seat belt and reached for her. "Tara!" He pressed his fingers against her neck. He could feel her pulse. She was still alive. Thank God! "Tara," he repeated, running his hand down her arm. "Wake up."
She didn't respond, and fear shot through him. The longer she was unconscious, the more serious her injuries could be, and he had no idea where they were or how far away help was. But he wasn't going to let her die. He couldn't. He'd promised.
He looked around the smashed-up cockpit. There had to be a first-aid kit somewhere. But even if he could find it, what could he do for her? She was breathing. She just wasn't waking up.
"Tara," he said again, taking her hand in his, squeezing her fingers, silently willing her to open her eyes.
She was a fighter. He knew that. He'd seen her in action. She might not have any training or any skills, but when it came to love, to loyalty, she didn't quit. And he wasn't going to quit on her.
"I need you to wake up. I need your help getting us out of here," he said. "We still have to find Bethany, and I can't do that without you. Bethany needs you." He paused, drawing in a breath. "I need you, too." He was shocked to realize how true the words felt, how much he didn't want to lose this beautiful, determined, passionate woman. He didn't want to be the reason she was dead.
Taking the plane had been the right move. They wouldn't have been able to protect themselves at the airfield. He could have only held off the shooters for a short time. If they hadn't taken the plane, they would certainly be dead. But having made the right move didn't make this moment any easier.
"Tara," he said again. "It's time to open your big blue eyes, to ask me what the hell I was thinking stealing a plane and landing in the middle of the jungle. Then we'll figure out what we're going to do next. We'll do that together. We'll survive this. We'll get to Cartagena. We'll follow Bethany's trail. And we'll look for Mateo. We both have people we love that we need to find. You have to wake up."
Tara's lips parted as she started to stir. Her eyelids flickered opened, then closed, then open again. She gave him a bemused look, as if she didn't know who he was.
There was a slash of blood across her forehead where some glass had cut through her skin, but he prayed there was no real damage to her head.
"Tara. It's good to see you."
"Diego," she said slowly.
"It's me." He smiled with relief that she knew his name.
"We crashed."
"It was a hard landing," he joked.
"There are branches coming through the window," she said, her gaze moving toward the broken glass. "Are we in a tree?"
"I'm not sure exactly, but we're alive. That's all that matters."
She blinked a few more times, then put a shaky hand to her face, bringing away blood on her fingers.
"You cut your head," he told her. "How do you feel?"
"I have a headache."
"Do you have pain anywhere else?"
"I—I don't know. I don't think so. Are you all right, Diego?"
"I'm okay. Now that you're awake, I'm going to look for a first-aid kid. Your
cut doesn't look too deep, but I don't want it to get infected."
"You have blood on your hand."
" It's a scratch. I'm going to take a look in the back of the plane."
"I'll help," she said, wincing a little as she shifted position.
"Stay put for now."
He moved behind their seats and found the first-aid kit. It was fully stocked with exactly what he needed. Pulling out antibiotic ointment, bandages, ibuprofen, and two bottles of water, he moved back toward Tara.
As he tended to her cut, he could smell the sweet scent of her shampoo, feel the silky strands of her hair brushing his face, and he had to force himself to concentrate on her wound, not on his attraction to her.
Using the light on his phone, he checked her cut for any sign of glass, but he didn't see anything. There was some swelling, but it didn't look too bad. When he applied the ointment, she jerked a little, biting back a gasp.
"Sorry," he said. "I know it stings."
"It's fine," she said tightly.
When he was done, he placed a bandage over her cut, then took out the ibuprofen and handed her a bottle of water. "You might want to take this."
She gulped down two capsules. "I'll do you now."
"I don't need anything."
"Let me see your hand," she ordered.
He extended his left hand. She put her hand under his, as she took a good look, then she reached for the same ointment.
"Your turn," she said.
She cleaned the cut, and he had to bite back his own gasp of pain. "That hurt," he said.
"I know. But that probably means it's doing its job. Do you want the ibuprofen, too?"
"No, I'm good."
"Tough guy."
"I didn't hit my head. I wasn't unconscious for several minutes. You scared me, Tara."
"I'm sorry. I'm all right. And now I have a big bump on my head to match your fading black eye. We're quite a pair."
"We are."
As their gazes clung together, he felt a jolt of desire. It wasn't the time or the place, but it was there.
Dangerous Choice KO PL Page 10