Shiver

by Karen Robards

  Just beyond the hangar, sitting on a turf runway carved out of what looked to be a wheat field, sat a Cherokee Six. Danny knew from planes, and he recognized it instantly just from its shape. This one was a little beauty: a six-seat, single-engine, fixed-landing-gear light aircraft with a range of around eight hundred miles. Which just went to prove that crime paid way better than law enforcement.

  As his eyes ran over it, Danny slowed down. Wherever this sweet little bird was taking them, he didn’t want to go. Plus, the chance of rescue went way down if they were flown, say, eight hundred miles away.

  Making a stand here and now, out in the open, occurred to him, but the odds didn’t look good. Veith and company had at least three guns to his zero (and if he knew Veith, they probably also had ammo out the wazoo) and he had a bum leg to hamper him in a fight, plus Sam to worry about. Avoiding getting killed himself was doable; keeping her from getting hurt or killed might be harder.

  Because they would use her to control him.

  Veith was a fast learner, and he had already learned how well that worked.

  Until he had Sam where he could protect her, he was better off waiting, Danny concluded. If Veith had been going to kill them immediately, the showdown would already have occurred. Apparently he had something else in mind, something that required a plane ride. Which meant that they still had some time.

  As Sam reached the Cherokee, its lights came on, the engine started to rumble, and the propeller started to turn with a fast whap-whap. A pilot must already be on board. The plane was vibrating, readying for takeoff as soon as they climbed inside; the steps were already down. Veith meant to waste no time, clearly. He must be concerned about a rescue party, too.

  Where the hell are you, Crittenden?

  Sam boarded at gunpoint, and a few minutes later, Danny did, too, blinking at the brightness of the cabin after the almost pitch darkness outside. The interior was tiny; he had to bend almost double. The seats were configured two by two by two. Sam was already strapped into a middle seat, with her hands bound in front of her this time because the seats were so small there was no room to put them behind her back and still allow her to sit properly. He saw at a glance that Veith retained his fondness for zip ties. The thug who had Sam in charge ostentatiously aimed his gun at her head as Danny hobbled down the narrow aisle. Silently, Danny promised him a world of hurt when the time came.

  Then he found himself praying that he could deliver.

  Sam’s eyes met his as he got close to her. If he had expected to see panic in her face, he’d been wrong. She looked surprisingly composed. There were shadows underneath her eyes, and maybe some tension around her mouth, but although he knew how terrified she must be—he well remembered how fierce her determination to survive for Tyler’s sake was—she didn’t show it.

  Jesus, she was pretty. No, not just pretty, but mind-blowingly beautiful. Even the plane’s harsh light couldn’t blunt the impact of her delicate features, or the thick-lashed blue of her eyes, or the creamy perfection of her skin. Her glorious mane of hair hung loose, waving over her shoulders, black as soot. His too-big white T-shirt didn’t cling, but since he knew that she wasn’t wearing a bra he had no trouble at all visualizing the firm round breasts beneath, or the pert nipples that he actually could see nudging the cloth. Not an hour before, she’d been lying naked in his arms, and they’d been having some of the best sex he’d ever had in his life. Now the effect she had on him was so intense that he could almost feel the air between them catching fire as he looked at her.

  He still couldn’t quite figure out why, after all that red-hot sex, she had cried in his arms.

  But remembering that she had cried affected Danny like a punch to the stomach.

  He didn’t think his expression changed—under conditions like these, he had a hell of a poker face—but it must have, because she smiled at him.

  It was just a small smile, but under the circumstances it was so brave and unexpected that it pierced his heart.

  I’m not letting this woman go, was the thought that popped fully formed into his head, even as, with the gun-holding thug watching him, he didn’t smile back. He didn’t want to direct any more of their attention to Sam than he could help, although that was probably a lost cause. At some point, he knew full well he was going to be engaged in a fight to the death with them in an attempt to get her out of this alive.

  Pushed into the seat opposite Sam by Veith, Danny had his hands strapped together in front of him as well, with another zip tie. The crutch got handed off, and tucked away behind the backseats.

  The door closed and the plane started bumping down the runway while Veith was still strapping in. He sat in the seat in front of Sam. Danny could see the pilot in the tiny cockpit. The third gunman had gone forward to sit in the copilot’s seat, leaving only four of them in the cabin.

  Danny stayed face forward, but he kept a careful watch on Sam out of the corner of his eye. She had her eyes closed now, and he once again would have thought that she was perfectly composed if her hands hadn’t been clenched into two hard fists in her lap.

  He knew her well enough now to guess that she was thinking of Tyler. Thank God the kid had managed to get away! Like Sam, he was smart and resourceful, and he would be all right even if he and Sam didn’t make it back. Although Danny meant to do everything in his power to make sure that Sam at least did.

  They picked up speed, and then the plane didn’t so much lift off as leap into the air. Because of the air currents associated with the coming rain, the ascent was rough, and they were bobbing up and down one minute and rocking from side to side the next. Looking out the small oval window by his seat, Danny checked hopefully for headlights traveling toward the airport. The only lights that he could see were on a road several miles away, and they were going the wrong way.

  Then the plane entered the clouds, and Danny couldn’t see the road anymore.

  When he glanced away from the window, he found Veith looking at him.

  The other man’s eyes were blue, Danny noticed for the first time. Not the beautiful deep blue of Sam’s, but a pale watery blue with a menacing cast to them.

  “You lied to me about Santos having the money,” Veith said. “I don’t like it when people lie to me.”

  His tone was so unemotional that only someone who knew what Veith was would know to be afraid. But Danny did know, and his gut churned. And that would be on Sam’s behalf, because Veith gave Sam a significant look as he said that last part, then smiled at Danny. For now, the plane’s turbulence would keep Veith in his seat. But not forever.

  “What makes you think I lied?” Danny parried. The implied threat to Sam had his adrenaline pumping, had him doing a discreet but thorough analysis of the plane as a battleground. The confined quarters might actually work in his favor, but there were significant obstacles to be overcome. One huge plus was that only a fool would fire a gun in a plane while it was actually in the air. Of course, underestimating the stupidity of Veith’s thugs might be a fatal error.

  “I asked him. He never laid a finger on Mr. Calderon’s nine million dollars. Never even heard of it. Pity I didn’t believe him until he was all chopped up. Of course, it was too late then.”

  Danny made a conscious effort not to look at Sam. Even so, he couldn’t help but see the sudden tension in her face, her widening eyes.

  “That money belonged to Mr. Calderon?” Danny asked carefully. José Calderon was head of the Zeta cartel, and stealing money from him was about as suicidal an act as he could think of right off the top of his head. It ranked right up there with letting Veith know that he’d had no idea the money existed until Veith had started trying to torture its whereabouts out of him. And that was ranked only slightly behind letting Veith in on his true identity.

  “Don’t get cute with me, Marco. You took the payment for that shipment of blow. You never delivered the payment to Mr. Calderon. He wants his cash. Which is why I’m taking you to talk to him personally. Although thanks
to Miss Samantha here, I’m betting you’ll have told me where it is long before we get there.”

  Veith pulled a wire cutter out of his pocket and held it up for them to see. As much as Sam tried to stay expressionless, her face paled. Danny felt a rush of deadly anger, and did his best to channel it productively. But he made the same internal promise to Veith that he’d made earlier to the guy who’d held a gun to Sam’s head: I’m coming for you.

  His major problem was going to be that as soon as a fight started, one of them was going to grab Sam, Danny reflected. Somehow he was going to have to get between her and them, and stay between her and them, while he took them out.

  The plane bobbled a little, then swooped left, and Danny found himself thanking God for the turbulence.

  “Nine million dollars is a lot of cash to try to hide.” Danny was still feeling his way with that. What had happened there? Had Marco really kept the cash? If so, that painted Marco’s sweetheart deal with the government in a whole new light. It was something that ought to be looked into, although if he didn’t survive the night nobody was going to know about it. Too bad he wasn’t wearing a wire; it would have solved a host of problems. “I’m guessing that’s why you didn’t believe me when I told you it was in my sock drawer. So where do you think I stashed it?”

  “For my money, it’s still in the eighteen-wheeler it came to you in. And you are going to tell me where you hid it. I’m guessing you don’t want to see your pretty little lady over there get her fingers and toes snipped off, one by one.” He snapped the wire cutters in Sam’s direction suggestively. Her lashes flickered, and he thought he saw a tiny muscle jump beneath her eye. Otherwise, she managed to remain impassive.

  “No, I don’t,” Danny agreed, having hit on a solution that probably wasn’t going to work to hold Veith off, but that he felt needed to be given a shot. At the very least, it would get Veith’s attention off Sam. From the corner of his eye, he could see that she was keeping very still. Her expression was almost grim now, and he guessed that was because she was determined not to show fear.

  Danny continued, “I give up, okay? I didn’t know that money belonged to Mr. Calderon. Now that I do, how about I just tell you where that eighteen-wheeler is?”

  Veith’s mouth tightened. His eyes hardened. His hand went to his seat belt. Danny tensed and thought here we go.

  Then the plane—bless it!—shook like a wet dog. Veith let go of his seat belt. A deep red flush crept up his neck to steal over his face. He glanced meaningfully at Sam. “It’s a shame your boyfriend here is such a smartass, don’t you think?” Then he switched his attention back to Danny. “When Mr. Calderon is done having his conversation with you, he’s going to let me have you. Then you and I are really going to have some fun together. And not just because I like you, either. You know that bomb you planted in your town house tonight? It killed one of my best men.”

  It took a second for that to compute, but when it did a thrill of alarm snaked down Danny’s spine. Before he could finish working the whole thing through, or come up with a reply for Veith, or do anything much except internally freak out because Veith did not plant that bomb, there was a loud boom, and the plane bucked like a rodeo bull and then began an ominous roll to the left.

  Not good, was Danny’s instant verdict. He heard Sam suck in air.

  The plane rolled right. Its yawing brought with it a whole different kind of fear.

  Sam’s eyes shot his way. Their gazes caught and held. Once again, he knew from planes. What was happening with this one wasn’t promising. He didn’t have a whole lot of reassurance to offer her. She seemed to be able to read his assessment of the situation in his eyes, because her face tightened, and she wet her lips.

  “What the hell . . . ?” Veith grabbed his armrests.

  “Mr. Veith, I’m declaring an emergency.” The pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker. It sounded calm but strained. Danny could see the dark outline of his back in the cockpit as he frantically worked the yoke and pedals. The plane continued to yaw drunkenly from side to side. Its nose seemed a little pitchy, too. Looking at Sam, he saw that she had gone utterly white. Her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap. “We’ve been hit by something and lost part of our tail. I’m going to try to take us back to the airfield. Please keep your seat belts fastened and—” The pilot broke off.

  A sudden glimmer of moonlight caused Danny to glance out the window. The Cherokee had just burst through the thick cloud cover into a clear, starry night sky. The moon was a silvery crescent floating high overhead.

  “Oh, my God!” the pilot screamed. “Pull up! Pull up!”

  That’s when Danny saw it: looming directly in front of them was a mountain.

  “Brace!” he yelled at Sam, but didn’t even have time to follow through on his own instructions before they hit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  She’d survived a plane crash. That was Sam’s first dazed thought as she picked herself up out of the snow and started brushing the icy crystals from her skin and clothes. Just how it had happened she didn’t know. After Marco had screamed at her, she’d barely had time to jackknife into position—head on knees, hands on top of head—before she’d heard a loud banging on the fuselage and the plane had started shaking like a paint mixer. She’d caught glimpses of branches flying past outside the window and known they were going down, skimming through treetops on their way to the ground. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam: the sound of branches hitting the metal fuselage had come as fast and loud as machine-gun fire. Then the cabin had started breaking up and she’d screamed as she’d felt herself falling. She didn’t even remember hitting the ground, but the next thing she knew she lay sprawled in about a foot of snow.

  A major part of the fuselage was directly in front of her, lying in a large clearing that sloped downward, down the mountain, which seemed vast. Most of the passenger cabin, she realized. It was ripped open like a tin can, jagged edges exposing the twisted interior of the cabin. From where she stood, the wreckage and the path it had gouged as it landed looked like a terrible gash in a sparkling layer of snow. A searching look around found broken trees and fallen branches that marked the plane’s descent through the forest.

  Marco. Sam’s heart lodged in her throat. Was he inside the fuselage still? Stumbling toward the wreckage, surprised to find her body working and seemingly unhurt, and then in the next breath realizing, too, that the tie that had bound her hands was gone, she called his name. “Marco!”

  “Sam!” His voice came from behind her. Turning, she saw that he was walking toward her from the woods, the edge of which formed a stockade of tall pines that ended only a few yards behind her. Now that she thought about it, she could smell a heavy scent of pine in the air, along with a gasoline-y smell that she guessed must be airplane fuel. Marco was moving pretty well, fast actually, using—she had to squint to make it out—a sturdy piece of branch as a cane. She registered then that somehow he’d managed to get his hands free, too.

  The sight of him made her feel warm all over, even though, as she was just starting to realize, where they were the night was cold. A few fat flakes of snow were falling, floating down around them like swan’s down.

  “Are you hurt?” His eyes were busy checking her out even before he reached her.

  “No, I don’t think so.” Feeling like they were where she belonged, she walked right into his arms. “What about you?”

  “I’m good.” He wrapped her up in a warm embrace, and she said, “I’m so glad to see you,” because it was true, and hugged him back and lifted her head. He kissed her, a quick hard kiss that did a lot to erase the fog that still gripped her.

  “Come on,” he said, and let her go. “I want to see if I can find a gun and then we need to get the hell out of here.”

  That’s when the fear returned: she and Marco weren’t the only ones on this bleakly beautiful mountainside. Somewhere—somewhere nearby—Veith and his thugs were probably regrouping, too.

  Her hear
t started to pound. Casting scared glances around, she hurried toward the wreckage at Marco’s side.

  Even before they got there, he stopped to scoop something up out of the snow with a sound of satisfaction. It was a pistol, and as he straightened and snapped the slide into place and checked the magazine he said to her, “That’s better. We’re in some business now.”

  Sam was all for turning tail and leaving then, but he spotted another gun in the snow even nearer the wreckage and went to retrieve that one, too, which he checked and then passed to her with the admonition, “Just don’t shoot me,” which she found vaguely insulting and so she frowned at him.

  He wasn’t looking at her. Gun at the ready, surprisingly agile with only his makeshift cane for support, he was already moving toward the torn fuselage. A moment later he had his head and shoulders in the largest gap, looking around inside.

  Keeping a careful eye out all around—the night was beautiful and still, no sign of any of the others—she joined him.

  “You don’t want to come in here,” he pulled back to tell her. From that she deduced that he was going inside, which he did. Taking him at his word, she stayed outside by the gash, keeping nervous watch.

  The thought that Veith might very well be out there somewhere scared her to her back teeth.

  When Marco reappeared, she saw that he had a whole arsenal of pistols and some ammunition, too, which he was busy stowing around his waistband and in his pockets. That made her feel a little better. Against all odds, she found that she was still trusting him to get her out of this alive. And forget the whole if he could thing.

  “Anybody still in there?” she asked as he stepped through the gap. He had his crutch back, she saw as he handed something to her—a blanket, one of the small, thin airplane variety.