Meltdown

by Gail Barrett

  At least that’s what he had believed.

  Unless he’d been chosen for some other reason…

  He quashed that disturbing thought. The reason he was here didn’t matter. And his course of action was clear. He had to call this in, land the plane in Deadman’s Junction and let the authorities deal with Zoe.

  Or the Navy would ground him for good.

  He reached for the switch on the radio. Zoe shot him a startled glance. “What are you doing?”

  “Reporting the attack.”

  “But…you can’t. I don’t want the police involved.”

  He cocked his head, lifted one brow. “You want those men to get away?”

  “No, of course not. But the police will detain me, question me. I told you they think I’m involved. And I don’t have time. I’ve got to find that flash drive before the deadline runs out.”

  He hesitated, the urge to help her riding him hard. But he had orders to follow—unequivocal ones. And for once in his life he couldn’t ignore the rules.

  He turned on the radio. Nothing. He flipped the switch, checking several other frequencies, but only got dead air. “This is nine five zero delta romeo,” he called. “Requesting a radio check, any radio.”

  No one answered. He slumped back in his seat in disgust.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The radio’s out.” And he’d left his satellite phone with his survival vest back at Pedro’s airstrip.

  “You mean because of the gunshots?”

  “No. The plane’s just old, and Pedro didn’t do much upkeep. The radio needs to be replaced.” As did most of the other parts.

  He eyed the monstrous peaks dominating the landscape below him, the surrounding foothills littered with rocks. Unease slivered through him, but he blocked it off. They would make it to Deadman’s Junction. He had enough problems to contend with without conjuring up new disasters.

  And speaking of disasters… His gaze traveled back to Zoe. She sat staring out the windshield with her shoulders hunched, her mouth set in a worried line. A section of hair had slipped from her braid and dangled behind her ear—making her look younger, softer, more vulnerable.

  And suddenly, time stalled and he was twenty-one again, grinning at the sexy woman in those uptight clothes, the woman who’d turned him inside out. He’d been so crazy about Zoe, so determined to prove that he deserved her, that he could be what she believed he was—smart, decent, worthwhile.

  She’d been way out of his league, a princess from another world. She’d grown up in a brilliant, famous family—with parents who didn’t beat her, in a house where meals appeared like clockwork on the table, where life didn’t revolve around the quantity of booze her old man had consumed.

  And yet, she’d treated him as her equal. She’d respected him, admired him. Little wonder that he’d fallen for her hard.

  But in the end, she’d done more than just reject him. She’d tried to destroy him, to deny him the one thing that mattered most. She’d had her grandfather use his connections to get Coop’s appointment to the Naval Academy revoked.

  The betrayal had shocked him, enraged him. But he hadn’t surrendered his dream. He’d become a pilot the hard way—he’d enlisted, put himself through college, worked his tail off to make the top of his flight school class. And he’d finally succeeded. He’d earned his wings of gold, become one of the elite.

  But he would never forget how she’d tried to harm him—no matter how innocent she currently seemed.

  Suddenly, she scooted forward and peered through the windshield. “Coop, wait. We need to land.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve gone past Crater Canyon.”

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not heading there.”

  “What?” Her gaze flew to his. “But you have to. I need to find that flash drive.”

  “After those men tried to kill you?” Was she nuts?

  “I don’t have a choice. I don’t have much time to pay the ransom. And I can’t let my grandfather die.”

  He stared at her, incredulity making his voice rise. “And what if they catch up? What then?”

  Her face turned even paler, highlighting the freckles on her nose. “They don’t know where I’ve gone. The desert’s huge. They’ll never find me out here.”

  “The hell they won’t. If they kidnapped your grandfather, they’ve studied his habits. They know he goes to Crater Canyon. You said he still flies there every month.”

  “I have to risk it.”

  “For God’s sake, Zoe—”

  “Don’t you understand? They’re going to kill him. And I can’t trust anyone else. I tried. I went to the police. I talked to the FBI, but they all think I’m a spy.”

  Coop steeled himself against a surge of guilt. He was working against her, too. But he had to turn her in and let the authorities decide what to do. Her innocence—or Shaw’s—had nothing to do with him.

  “Forget it. I’m landing at Deadman’s Junction. You can do what you want after that.”

  Her eyes filled with hurt. She plopped back in her seat and looked away. He scowled at her wounded profile, wanting to console her, believe her, but he refused to change his mind.

  He couldn’t. He’d die if he couldn’t fly.

  Just then the airplane lurched.

  Zoe sat up straight. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know.” He checked his watch, glanced at the undamaged wing. They shouldn’t have run out of fuel.

  The engine sputtered again, then died.

  “What’s happening?” Zoe asked, her voice rising. “Why is it doing that?”

  Coop didn’t answer. His pulse suddenly pounding, he shoved the throttle forward and cranked the starter. The engine rumbled briefly, then went dead quiet again.

  The propeller slowed. Wind whistled through the cockpit. The plane made an ominous creak. They began to lose lift and the nose pitched down.

  “Oh, God,” Zoe whispered.

  He spared her a glance. She sat bolt upright, staring out the windshield, her knuckles white on the seat.

  “Tighten your seat belt and help me look for a place to land.” He pulled back on the yoke, adjusting the pitch of the airplane to maximize the glide. Then he scanned the rocks beneath them, searching for a place to put down.

  The plane steadily descended. His adrenaline ratcheted higher. All he could see beneath him were rocks. He scoured the boulders for an opening, his palms growing slick on the yoke.

  “Over there,” Zoe said. “I see a space.”

  “Where?” He glanced out the starboard side where she was pointing, spotted a narrow stretch of sagebrush between two high ridges of rocks. The strip was short, not much bigger than the landing deck on an aircraft carrier—minus the arresting wire to help them stop.

  But he didn’t have a choice.

  He angled toward the opening, maintaining the best speed to glide. Then he jiggled the switch on the radio, hoping for a miracle, in a last-ditch effort to summon help. “Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is nine five zero delta romeo. We’re a hundred miles south of Deadman’s Junction, heading north with our engine out. Mayday, mayday, mayday.” Still nothing. Damn.

  He tossed down the useless receiver, focusing fully on the landing now, his blood pumping hard in his veins. The plane glided lower. The sandy stretch came closer—but they were still too high to put down.

  “I’m putting the plane into a slip,” he warned Zoe. “We’re going to fall fast, but don’t panic. We’ll be okay.”

  He turned the yoke and depressed the rudder, keeping the nose down to avoid a stall. The plane instantly plummeted, making his head light, like an elevator plunging straight down.

  The ground rushed up. He eased off the controls.

  They were committed now.

  He glanced at Zoe, and the terror in her eyes filled him with regrets. “Brace for impact.”

  He pulled back on the yoke. The desert blurred past. He raised the nose and held. He gritte
d his teeth, working the rudders as the plane grew sluggish and slowed.

  The rear wheels touched down. He strained to hold up the nosewheel, his back muscles rigid from the effort, sweat running into his eyes. But the nose slammed into the sand, digging in deeply, jerking them to a halt. “Hold on!” he shouted.

  The plane’s momentum yanked them into a cartwheel. They flipped end over end, the plane crumpling, the din of smashing metal deafening his ears. He hit his harness hard.

  And his mood dove even more. He’d known from the start that Zoe would bring trouble.

  And it had just gotten worse.

  Chapter 3

  Coop hung upside down in the shattered cockpit, his blood whomping through his skull, the stench of shorn-off metal stinging his nose. He swiveled around in his harness, spotted Zoe dangling limply from her seat beside him, and a fierce jolt of dread constricted his throat.

  “Zoe! Are you all right?”

  She moaned in response, and he closed his eyes in relief. She was alive, thank God. But she could be hurt. He had to get her out of the wreckage and check her for injuries fast.

  Bracing his arm against the roof, he unlatched his seat belt and dropped awkwardly onto his back. He squirmed through the mangled metal, the hot afternoon air drifting through the gaping holes. At least they’d survived the crash. So far.

  “Zoe.” He twisted around to reach her. Blood matted her hair, and he tensed.

  “Coop?” Her voice was faint.

  “Hold on. I’ll help you down.” He rose and wedged his shoulder underneath her to reduce the pressure on the belt. “Grab the strap so you don’t fall.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  He propped her up, careful in case she had other injuries, and undid the clasp. But she fell against him, knocking him off balance, flattening him to the roof.

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to let go.” She struggled to rise, shoving against his stomach, and he let out a grunt. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He inhaled to get his wind back, then managed to push to his knees. “How about you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He doubted that. A nasty scrape marred her cheek. Her scalp was bleeding, her wide mouth pinched with pain. His concern about her injuries grew.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Will it explode?”

  “Probably not. I doubt there’s enough fuel left.” He crawled through the opening where his door had been, then reached back and pulled her out.

  Still holding her hand, he blinked in the blinding sunlight at the metal strewn over the sand. The fuselage smoldered behind them. The tail lay in a patch of sagebrush yards away. One of the wings had broken off and stood upright against the rocks like a macabre flag.

  He wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve. The plane was toast. They’d have to hike out of the desert on foot—unless the Emergency Locator Transmitter worked and someone rescued them.

  And given Pedro’s aversion to maintenance, he had little hope of that.

  He scanned the high, rocky ridges boxing them in, glad the landing hadn’t been worse. If he’d overshot the opening or touched down a few feet to either side…

  Shaking off that unnerving thought, he towed Zoe from the smoking debris. The brutal, midday sun broiled his scalp. Sweat moistened his spine, pasting his T-shirt to his back. Zoe stumbled behind him, and he stopped, then turned around to check her out.

  Blood caked her hair above her ear. Her now-soiled blouse hung askew, with half of the buttons ripped off. Even her shorts fluttered loose, one leg torn clear up her thigh.

  He ran his hands over her shoulders, her back, checking for injuries. “Does anything hurt?”

  She shook her head, then pressed her hand to her temple and winced. “Just my head.”

  “It’s bleeding.” Leaning closer, he parted her hair and examined the oozing cut. “We’ll need a bandage. How’s your vision?”

  “Fine.”

  “No blurring? Double vision?”

  “No.”

  She still could have a concussion. He gently prodded her scalp, searching for lumps, then slid his hands down her arms. Her skin was smooth, soft, chilled despite the heat. He took her wrist, and her pulse sprinted under his thumb.

  But her pupils were even and small, her breath steady and fast, reducing the chances of a concussion or shock. And he had no further reason to touch her. He should let her go, step back, focus on finding help.

  But his feet stayed rooted to the sand. He skimmed his hands up her arms, drawing her closer, drowning in her deep, blue eyes.

  “I thought we were going to die,” she whispered. Her bottom lip quivered. A sudden sheen brightened her eyes. And he knew she was fighting to hold it together, that the crash had scared her more than she cared to admit.

  And he couldn’t help but respond. He tugged her into his arms and held her against him, absorbing the tremors wracking her body, her uneven breath fanning his neck. He stroked her hair, her back, offering what comfort he could.

  She hooked her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest, and the feel of her broke through his guard. Maybe it was the trauma of the plane crash. Maybe it was the realization that they could have died. But the bitterness he’d harbored against her subsided, replaced by a swarm of emotions—tenderness, sympathy, regret.

  She snuggled closer against him, her body still shaking from the adrenaline release. He closed his eyes and inhaled, absorbing her familiar scent. And he was suddenly, vibrantly aware of the feminine curve of her hips, the seductive fullness of her breasts, the taut thighs pressed against his. His reaction was predictable, uncontrollable.

  Wrong.

  He shifted away before she could notice. Sex with Zoe had never been the problem. She’d brought his fantasies to life and burned him alive. It was the rest that had come between them—their backgrounds, her grandfather, her lies.

  Determined not to go down that road, he tried to lighten the mood. “I guess the landing was a little hard.”

  “A little?” She managed a shaky laugh. He brushed a stray tear from her scraped cheek, her brave, lopsided smile warming his heart.

  And for an instant, time peeled away again, bringing back that flash of connection, that sense of rightness he’d always felt around Zoe.

  But he shook it off and turned his attention to the sizzling sand. “There’s some shade by that ridge. Think you can walk that far?”

  She stepped further back and looked away, her moment of weakness gone. “I’ve just got a headache. How about you?”

  “My shoulder’s stiff, but that’s about it.” He rotated his right arm to test it. “It’s just a bruise.”

  “So what do you think happened?”

  “We must have run out of fuel.” He squinted at the mutilated metal littering the sand. “Go wait in the shade. I’m going to hunt for supplies.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “You need to rest. You could have a concussion.”

  “I said I’m all right. I’ll rest later, after we’ve searched the plane.” She turned on her heel, headed back to the wreck.

  He frowned as she walked away, the torn shorts flapping against her thigh, and blew out a frustrated breath. She definitely hadn’t changed. She was still determined, stubborn…

  But she’d need that willful streak to survive. They could be stranded out here for days.

  Not wanting to think of that possibility, he followed her back to the plane. But like it or not, he had to face facts. No one knew they’d left the airstrip except their attackers. His Navy contact, Captain Ruegg, might continue to ignore him for days. And even when someone finally missed them—or the plane—and mounted a search, the chances they’d be spotted were slim. Planes crashed in the wilderness all the time—and remained undiscovered for years.

  While Zoe searched the sand around the airplane, he pried open the baggage door and retrieved the emergency kit. He quickly rummaged through it,
unearthing a signal mirror and map, and some basic first aid supplies. There was also a moth-eaten blanket, four petrified granola bars, a baseball cap bearing an agricultural company’s logo—and at the bottom, several vital quarts of water.

  He exhaled, thinking longingly of his Navy flight vest with his survival gear. But he’d been working undercover at the airstrip, pretending to be on leave, so he’d stowed the vest in the shed. He’d figured his sidearm was protection enough. Big mistake.

  He stuck the ball cap on his head and crawled back into the plane. Bypassing the broken radio, he squeezed through the twisted metal, trying to see if the Emergency Locator Transmitter survived. But the cabin had pancaked on impact, and he couldn’t wriggle through.

  Giving up, he scooted back into the cockpit and hunted through the debris, then spotted his sidearm wedged under the dashboard with Zoe’s cell phone. Feeling more at ease armed, he shoved his gun into his waistband and tried the phone.

  No signal—hardly surprising on the desert floor. But if he climbed that ridge…

  He exited the plane, spotted Zoe bending over her knapsack, and headed her way. But then he paused, struck by a sudden doubt. What if she refused to call for help? She’d had a fit when he’d tried the radio in the plane.

  Unwilling to risk it, he slipped her cell phone into the pocket of his jeans. He’d give it back after he made the call.

  Ignoring his protesting conscience, he retrieved the emergency kit, then started toward her again. She turned as he approached.

  “I found my knapsack,” she said. “I’ve got sandwiches and water.”

  “Good. I found some water, too.” He angled his chin toward the rocks. “Let’s take inventory in the shade.”

  “All right.” She swung her knapsack over her back, and he plodded beside her through the sand, refusing to feel any guilt about concealing her phone. He had to call for help. They couldn’t fool around out here. Desert survival wasn’t a game.

  “Watch out for snakes,” he cautioned as they neared the ridge.

  “I know.” She lowered herself to the sand, sending a gecko scurrying into the sagebrush, and he dropped the emergency kit at her feet.