Crash Landing

by Becky Avella

  If Deanna didn’t show her face soon, he would do it. He scrubbed his face with both hands. She’d said five minutes. Where was she? Had he waited too long already?

  He lifted his hand to knock one last time, but before he could strike it, the door swung open to Deanna’s smiling face. Behind her, books littered the floor, the coffee table was overturned and pictures had been torn from the wall. His muscles tensed and he was ready to fight, yet she was grinning at him as if he were a guest arriving for a dinner party. His fist hovered in midair as his brain grappled with the conflicting information in front of him.

  “Sorry I kept you waiting,” she said, her tone’s sweetness jarring, out of place against the backdrop of destruction behind her. Why was she acting so weird?

  Sean lowered his arm slowly. “Everything okay in here?”

  His hackles rose as Blake Ransford filled the space behind her. Sean’s fingers curled into a fist. He wanted to knock the condescension off that pompous face.

  Blake stretched around Deanna, offering his hand to shake. “Sean, glad to see you in one piece.”

  Sean obeyed mechanically. He wasn’t sure he could say the same thing in return, so he kept his mouth shut. Blake straightened and draped his arm casually across Deanna’s shoulders, staking his claim. She didn’t wriggle out from under it, didn’t show any discomfort at being claimed.

  Sean felt like someone had reached inside his body and was wringing out his kidney. The tension released and his arms hung at his side. He was such a fool! It didn’t take a genius to guess what was coming next.

  Deanna’s face flushed crimson. “Blake has volunteered to help me with everything until all of this blows over.” She stumbled over her next words. “So you won’t have to take care of me anymore. You can get home now.”

  Sean squared his shoulders. “This is what you want, Deanna?”

  “Now you can stop worrying about me,” she said.

  As if it were that easy. Like he could turn it off. “That’s not what I asked you. I asked if this is what you want.”

  Blake crossed his arms. “Is there going to be a problem here, Loomis?”

  Sean ignored him and addressed Deanna. “I promised your grandmother that I’d keep you safe,” Sean said. “Are you safe?”

  “Of course,” she said. “You’re not the only good guy in town, Sean.”

  “You said you were glad we were in this together,” he said. “I still want that. Don’t you?”

  She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Sean clutched her arms above the elbows and made her look at him. He studied her eyes for the truth. “Do you want me to leave, Deanna? Because if you do, you are going to have to say it plain.” He looked at Blake when he added, “Otherwise, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Deanna opened her mouth, then shut it. Tears welled but didn’t spill from her stormy eyes. “This is what’s best, Sean.”

  “Again, that’s not what I asked.”

  “I want you to go,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  He dropped his hands without a word and jumped from the porch, ready to bolt for the safety of his truck before he revealed too much of his disappointment.

  “Sean!”

  He turned, hoping for an explanation.

  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for everything. Stay safe, okay?” Her eyes begged him to understand. But he didn’t want her pity. He just wanted to leave and get on with things.

  “Yeah, you too, Deanna,” he said over his shoulder, each bitter word burning his tongue. He strode toward the truck, too angry to say more.

  In the privacy of the dark cab he slammed his open palm against the Beast’s steering wheel, relishing the sting. It was time to wake up. He hadn’t realized how much of a fairy-tale ending he’d been entertaining. He saw again the disgust in Uncle Paul’s face, suddenly aware of just how much those romantic notions had cost him. Sean hit the wheel twice more for good measure and started the ignition. He had promised he’d go home after he knew Deanna was safe. He didn’t particularly like Blake Ransford, but the man was just as capable as Sean was of protecting Deanna. With all his money, he was probably more equipped for it.

  It was time to go home.

  The old truck roared to life on the first turn of the key, a small mercy to Sean’s stung pride. He flipped a three-point turn, spitting up gravel in the process.

  He grimaced. “I am so tired of being your fool, Deanna Jackson.”

  Sean slowed his exit, determined to preserve whatever dignity he had left. Braking at the top of the driveway, he allowed himself a final look through the rearview mirror. Deanna lifted her hand in a small wave goodbye, making Sean’s chest warm. The sad little gesture melted his anger, replacing it with concern. Had his pride made him too hasty?

  Deanna’s slender frame illuminated by the porch light looked almost childlike standing in Blake’s shadow. Blake’s large hand gripped her shoulder, possessing her. Where had the feisty cowgirl gone? She didn’t seem at all happy, so why was she sending him away?

  He paused with his hand hovering above the gearshift, tempted to throw the truck into Reverse, to go back and fight for her. But before he acted, Blake pulled Deanna toward the door, and then she was out of sight. Sean felt the loss in his gut.

  He listened to the click, click, click of the truck’s blinker. Was Deanna really okay? Could he trust Blake to keep her safe?

  Sean dropped his gaze from the mirror. He had no right to ask those questions. Deanna had made her choice—he had heard her say it with her own mouth. She hadn’t acted scared. She was a grown woman. It wasn’t like he could force her to come with him. She wanted him to leave. He would leave.

  “Lord, she’s Yours,” he prayed aloud. “Keep her safe.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Deanna’s shoulder ached under Blake’s vise grip as he pushed her into the living room and toward the couch. She stumbled forward, tripping over books scattered on the ground. One of her high school yearbooks skidded forward and bounced off the sofa’s hem.

  “Sit,” Blake commanded, pushing her into the soft cushions.

  She stifled a painful sob. Sean was gone. She had bargained for his life with her own. Now it was time for her new reality to begin.

  Blake had his gun out again. Deanna missed the reassuring pressure of her own gun in her waistband. Feeling that empty space where the gun had been accentuated the weight of her helplessness.

  She waved toward his weapon. “I can see we’re beginning this relationship of ours with a foundation of trust and all that.”

  If she were smart, she’d keep her sassy mouth shut and try not to anger the man with the gun, but she could not pretend. This whole thing was a farce. How long did Blake expect her to keep up this act? Getting tired of her was inevitable. And when he did, how would he dispose of her? Maybe she could speed things up. Make Blake mad enough and spare herself the interim misery.

  There she went again. Thinking only about herself. She was here for Sean’s sake. Even if it took hurting him, even if it meant groveling and placating Blake. Sean needed her to buy him time.

  Blake knelt before her and braced his hands on each side of her shoulders, pinning her to the couch. “I’m not naive enough to believe it will happen overnight,” he said softly. He caressed her cheekbone with the tip of the pistol. “You can learn to love me. It will start slow, I know. You’ll appreciate the life I can give you first. Then you’ll see what I can see. We are meant for each other, Deanna. I knew it the moment I met you. We will do great things together.”

  Deanna deflated. She sunk farther into the soft cushions. She couldn’t look into Blake’s eyes, couldn’t stand to see how much he believed what he was saying. She had done this. Somehow she had convinced him she was a woman whose heart was for sale.

  “You’ve
always trusted me in the past,” he continued. “It will take time for me to earn it back, but I will. I promise I will. We’ll start the rebuilding process right after I take care of one last piece of business. This will hurt, but it’s necessary. There’s nothing I can do about it. It has to be done, or I won’t be able to give you the future I want for you.”

  She sat up, alert. “What do you mean? Do what?”

  He pulled away from her and studied the gun in his hand. “I’m sorry, Deanna. Think of this as ripping the Band-Aid off quickly.”

  She gripped the edge of the sofa and leaned toward him. “Wait. What are you going to do?”

  Blake picked up the walkie-talkie.

  “Martin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ve got your green light.”

  Deanna leaped up from the couch and lunged for the radio. “No!” she screamed.

  Blake pushed her hard, knocking her to the ground. She fell, hitting her shoulder against the coffee table on her way down. “Blake, don’t do this!” she begged.

  Genuine pity played across his features before he spoke into the radio again. “Do it, Greg. Take out Loomis.”

  * * *

  High-beam headlights lit up the cab behind Sean. The hair on his forearms prickled. Now what? He gazed over his shoulder, squinting against the blinding beacons closing in on him.

  Sean flashed his own lights a few times as a friendly reminder, hoping his instincts were wrong, that the vehicle behind him held some forgetful neighbor of Deanna’s on his way home. But instead of dimming his high beams, the other driver revved his engine and closed the gap between them even more. No rest for the weary. Whoever was behind him wasn’t friendly.

  “Not again,” Sean groaned.

  His heartbeat was a painful staccato as adrenaline took over. His muscles tightened, his hearing tuned, his vision tunneled. He was ready to fight. He squeezed the steering wheel tight and slammed down on the gas pedal.

  The speedometer’s needle was rising but not fast enough. He pushed his entire body weight onto the accelerator until it was completely flattened against the truck floor. All he could hope to do at this point was lead whoever was behind him as far away from Deanna as possible.

  “Go,” he commanded the Beast.

  He felt the soft kiss of the breeze against his cheek before he heard the explosion. This time it was the front windshield that was hit, the glass splintering in front of him. More bullets zipped through the glassless back window, just missing Sean’s head. His pulse thundered. He was too exposed. Lit up from behind like this, he imagined his silhouette was one of those black outlines on a shooting-range target. The cab filled with more bullets, more confusion and noise.

  White pain erupted across his vision. Sean slapped his hand against his ear, desperate to push away the searing burn. He groaned and patted around the side of his head, relieved to find his ear still attached. So much pain and blood for just a nick!

  The sickening crunch of folding metal filled the cab. The other truck had made contact, ramming him from behind. Time stretched as Sean’s body whiplashed in slow motion.

  Then the motion stopped suddenly, leaving a heavy silence. The collision had felt slow but had actually happened so fast.

  Sean panted, wiping his slippery hands on his jeans. He gripped the wheel like a lifeline, waiting for his scrambled brain to assess the situation. It had been a hard hit, but he was fine and the motor was still running. He looked backward and saw the front grill of a white Tundra backing away, preparing for another run at him.

  Sean slammed the accelerator, adrenaline pushing away all of the aches and pains.

  A stop sign loomed ahead. He ran it and at the last possible second swung the truck into a right turn. He wrestled to maneuver the turn without the help of power steering, narrowly missing a tumble down an embankment into the orchard beside him.

  The Tundra executed the turn with ease and pulled parallel to Sean. Robinson Canyon Road had only a mile or so to go before it would live up to its name, dramatically dropping into the canyon that led from the Flats down to the sleepy town in the valley below.

  Sean twisted, trying to see the other driver through the tinted glass.

  “Are you insane?” he yelled above the roar of the wind and dueling motors. They couldn’t maintain this side-by-side position or these high speeds if they were both going to survive the S curves ahead.

  It was too dark to see the driver through the tinted glass, but recognition dawned anyway. In a town as small as Kinakane, brand-new trucks stood out. Especially foreign makes like this one. A Dodge? A Chevy? Plenty of those around, but drive a brand-new tricked-out Toyota through Main Street and people would look. Sean knew who was driving this one and he knew the supplemental income that allowed him to afford it.

  Greg Martin.

  The passenger window lowered, giving Sean only moments to duck before his own side window shattered. Glass shards bit into his skin. He heard the high-pitched squeal of scraping metal on metal as Greg rammed the Tundra into the old pickup over and over again, pushing Sean off the road and into the adjacent orchard.

  He was going to crash. He couldn’t stop it or control the direction he was heading any longer. The old Beast was moving on inertia alone.

  Sean’s bull-riding instincts kicked in again. If he could stay loose, the end result would hurt less. He relaxed, riding the powerful jerks and bumps as the Beast crashed down the embankment. And then he heard one last sickening crunch before the old truck wrapped around the nearest apple tree.

  * * *

  The guest suite inside Blake’s house was a study in perfection. Thick carpet squished around Deanna’s feet as she walked to the bed and dumped her bag on top of the silky linens, wrinkling them. A tiny bit of satisfaction momentarily broke through her grief at the sight of her dingy belongings ruining the spotless ambiance.

  Blake leaned against the door frame and crossed his thick arms across his chest. His glacial eyes narrowed. He looked like an Arctic wolf tracking her every move.

  A muscle flexed in his forearm. No one could deny that Blake Ransford was an attractive man. His appearance demanded respect, even Deanna’s. It was part of what made him such a powerful influence in town. His allure was cold in the same way that someone might call a marble sculpture beautiful. His athletic physique was flawless, chiseled, the type of body earned in a climate-controlled gym.

  Too perfect. Not at all like the rugged build of a working man like...

  Deanna blinked rapidly. She would not allow that name to surface. That name might cripple her if she so much as thought it, and she needed to stay strong a little longer. She could fall apart later.

  She squared her shoulders, scanning the monochromatic decorations. This place could use some messing up. There was intention behind every item placed in it, from the angle each was turned to the way the light was positioned to highlight them.

  She sniffed, catching the barest hint of some cleaning solution that lingered in the air. Not the good old-fashioned pine stuff she and Gram used, but something with a softer scent. She rolled her eyes. While the rest of the town reeked of smoke, Blake’s house smelled of citrus and vanilla. It smelled rich.

  “What is this, Hotel Ransford?”

  “Make yourself at home,” Blake said.

  “You’re not serious.”

  He nodded at her bag. “Got everything you need?”

  She shrugged. “Unless you have an orange jumpsuit handy?”

  Blake crossed to her and cupped her cheek. When she tried to pull her head away, he gripped her jaw, tilting her face up. She clenched her teeth, refusing to meet his eyes.

  “I’m going to leave you alone for now,” he said softly. “You need to shower and get some rest. I’ll send you some food.”

  “Stop acting
like I’m your guest,” she said. “I’m your prisoner and you know it.”

  “Your status here is up to you. The sooner you figure that out, the happier you’ll be.” His voice matched the smooth ivory of his decor, but the painful grip on her jaw belied his calm. Tracing her cheekbone with his thumb, he added, “The happier I will be.”

  Each stroke across her cheek stirred up the angry coals simmering in the pit of her stomach. She tried to summon enough energy to fan those embers back to life. She imagined swatting his hand away, pictured herself spitting in his face for extra drama. She could almost feel the slap of his open hand if she dared to do it. But exhaustion had nearly snuffed out her fire. It felt like someone was ringing her brain out like a dishrag. Her arms hung loose at her side.

  “I don’t understand you, Blake. What do you expect of me? Because you’re delusional if you think I can love...”

  He put the tip of his finger against her lips, silencing her. She was so drained of energy, felt so completely weary, he could have pushed her over with no more than that fingertip.

  Blake dropped his hand. “This discussion can wait. It’s the middle of the night. Get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

  Before he left the room, he turned.

  “What?” she mumbled, her gaze fixed on the floor.

  “If you really want to understand me, you need to understand this. No matter what, Deanna, I win. I always do. It’s a personal rule of mine. You need to decide if you win, too.”

  The door shut behind him with a delicate click. There was no lock, but Blake had told her an armed guard would be waiting on the other side. He’d also warned her of an alarm on the windows and more guards outside.

  She slid to the floor and lay prostrate. Pain worse than any bullet shot through her gut. She longed for Sean’s strong arms to wrap her up, to protect her again. She wanted to feel his soft lips kissing away her salty tears. None of that would happen again, because Sean was gone. Blake had taken it all away before she had time to realize how precious it was. How precious Sean was to her. She curled into the pain. The sorrow ripped through her, and she didn’t try to stop it.