Setting Him Free
Alexandra Marell
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2005 Alexandra Marell
Full copyright notice at end to maximise sample
All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Edited by Anne McCraw
Blurb
As Quality Control Manager for Exotic Resorts Inc., Danielle Radley's life is one long round of sun, sea and sand. Unfortunately, it also involves airplanes and Danielle hates flying with a passion. Flying home from a tropical resort, she finds herself sitting across the aisle from an enigmatic man handcuffed to the seat. A man who fascinates her more than he should.
Taylor Bradford is a broken man. Tired of running, he's glad the end is near. That is until he catches Danielle's eye on the plane. A moment of instant connection awakens feelings he thought long dead. When the plane gets into difficulty and starts going down into the tropical rainforest below, he reaches for her hand…
31,250 Words
Chapter 1
Here we go again.
Engines screaming, the small jet hurtled down the runway while Danielle Radley gripped the armrests of her seat and closed her eyes, desperately trying to remember the hypnotherapist's advice.
Butterflies, the sick feeling of panic - despite years of therapy, they were still all there. Yet the only alternative to these few hours of pure terror was to give up her job. And not just any job, Quality Control Manager for Exotic Resorts Inc. was a dream of a job. One long round of sun, sea and sand. Gourmet food and luxury hotels. Beautiful people. Worldwide travel which, unfortunately, involved flying.
The plane tilted sharply, her stomach lurched and she began her mantra.
"It's worth it, it's worth it, it's worth it."
The island paradise fell away as the plane climbed towards the flawlessly blue sky on its four-hour journey to the mainland airport. Three-and-a-half if they were lucky. Danielle opened her eyes when she felt the aircraft level out. It'll soon be over. In a few hours she'd be on safe, solid land again. Time for a few days of rest and to sort out the next project – then the worrying would start all over again.
The Langhams ACG corporate Jetliner seated twenty-eight, but today it was virtually empty with only seven passengers on board. Danielle counted them, then sat back, swallowed down her nerves and checked her watch. Damn, only five minutes into the flight. Sweat trickled between her breasts, and what had been a smart blouse only two hours ago was now a limp, sorry excuse for business-wear. She rubbed at her neck, lifting her pony-tail away from sticky skin, and blew out a long breath.
A single row of seats ran down her side of the plane with doubles across the aisle, some forward-facing, some facing each other. Normally the outbound flights were packed with the party-elite still on their post-vacation high. Danielle liked to fly with the clients – pretending to be one of them was the best way to do her research – but today she'd given up her seat on the commercial flight to a man who needed to return home for a family emergency. After resigning herself to spending an extra night at the resort, finding the special charter scheduled for the mainland had been a stroke of luck. Her next trip, to Singapore, involved a tight turnaround back in the States.
Two nuns sat across the aisle at the front of the plane. What the blazes were they doing at the Tropicana? The small airport really only served the few outlying islands and the hotel complex, well-known as one of the wilder, more exclusive resorts. A picture of the holy sisters dancing on Fetish Night popped into her mind, making Danielle smile. Of course, they would have blended right in.
The obligatory businessman sat one seat behind them. She'd passed him on boarding, amazed at the way he'd started checking through a thick sheaf of papers the moment he was settled, looking completely unconcerned that this giant tube of metal not only needed to achieve the extraordinary feat of getting itself off the ground but was also required to cruise through the sky for four hours, then land safely at the other end.
The other three people sat on the other side of the aisle, in seats facing each other. People were her thing, and playing guess-who at least helped to pass the time. Two of them could have been clones with their identical dark suits and sunglasses. One produced a handkerchief and wiped his face. The other sprawled back, looking anything but relaxed. Fingers tapping insistently on the window ledge, his steady gaze was levelled firmly at the third member of the trio sitting opposite him in the aisle seat.
Interpol, Danielle decided. Or CIA, MI6? Probably on some top-secret – or, in their case, rather obvious – mission, since they were doing a terrible job of blending in. Danielle thought about moving, but knew that changing seats would just be tempting fate. She could see the headline, now. If only the woman had remained in the same seat.
Calm down, they're not concerned, so why should you be?
She turned her attention to the third man, sitting only a few feet away across the aisle, and realised it wasn't only his clothing that set him apart from the other two. The trio sat together, but they weren't together. Yet they were connected somehow. Danielle unclipped her seatbelt and settled back, glad of the distraction, flicking sideways glances so he wouldn't catch her looking. A lot harder to fathom, the man was already seated when she boarded, and she couldn't have failed to notice him in his all-black attire. The sweat-drenched tee-shirt clinging to his chest, the jeans and boots told her that here was a man who didn't waste time on his wardrobe choices.
Light-brown hair, cropped short, darker at the roots as if growing out a colour. A lean face, toned body, the muscles well-defined against his tight tee.
And his expression? Verging on tragic, she decided. And not just in the arrangement of his features. No, this came from deep inside.
He stared straight ahead, as if in a trance, silent and remote. The man had keep off written all over him. Danielle checked him out, more than curious, unable to look away. A man staring at the world with eyes that didn't seem to see. Why?
The man twisted a little, as if trying to get comfortable without attracting too much attention, and her gaze dropped to his left arm, the one resting loosely between him and his companion. Handcuffs? Her heart gave a jolt. One around his wrist, the other clipped to the metal strut of the arm-rest.
How had she missed that?
Now she understood. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff plucking up the courage to jump, everything about him tightly focused, determined, hard. A slight trembling on every exhale, and the compulsive flexing and contracting of his trapped fist were the only signs of any underlying anxiety.
When he slowly turned his head a shiver chased over her skin. He stared directly at her and for a split second a spark ignited in his eyes. Deeply penetrating, his gaze swept the length of her, appraising, challenging. Making her want to jump and run to another seat, fate be damned.
The shiver turned into a knot of panic.
He knows I've seen it.
He continued to stare, almost daring her to look away. She couldn't. He needed her to see. Whatever pain he was in, for some reason he was sharing it with her.
What did he want? Comfort, understanding? Condemnation? What the hell had he done to end up handcuffed to a seat on a plane? As they gazed at each other her mind conjured a picture of a bird, beating its wings against the bars of a cage. Her brother had trapped one once and presented it to her. Then he'd laughed at her because all she'd wanted to do was set it free.
A ghost of a smile flickered across the man's features, almost as if he were reading the image in her mind. With a shake of his head, he turned away, retreating back into his shell. Danielle felt him go. The brief moment of co
nnection severed so abruptly she had to catch herself. She almost reached out to stop him, the pull was so strong. Then the flight attendant appeared, pushing a small cart, and stood between them, blocking her view. Danielle accepted the drink, helped herself to a packet of cookies. Wondered what colour the mystery-man's eyes were. Realised they were blue.
When the attendant moved on, Danielle picked up the in-flight magazine, needing a barrier between them. She didn't want him looking at her again. Not like that. She returned to mentally helping the pilot to fly the plane, concentrating on engine noises, searching the attendant's face for signs of concern. A quick glance at her watch told her they were still only ten minutes into the flight, so she kicked off her shoes and stared grimly at the page.
Anything, but look at him again. Whatever he'd done, he'd pay. He didn't need her pity. That puppy-dog-at-the-pound expression probably had women falling at his feet. Well, not this woman. Fear of flying was the only thing that marred Danielle Radley's perfect life, and when she got back to the States that problem would be sorted once and for all. Then her life would be perfect. And God-help-her, it was going to stay that way.
* * * *
Taylor Bradford stared at the seat in front of him, trying not to think about the tattered remnants of his life. A painful cramp tightened his arm. Without moving too much, he tried to twist into a more comfortable position, taking in a deep, calming breath as he fought against the hysteria momentarily threatening to overwhelm him. You wanted this, he thought grimly and closed his eyes because the woman with the bouncy pony-tail and the neat little business suit was still giving him that wide-eyed look she'd adopted on spotting the handcuffs.
He couldn't hide them so he let his mind go blank and endured her look, of what? Pity? Concern ? Whatever it is, I don't want it. Why can't she be scared of me? I could cope with that.
Inspiring fear was his gift and what had made him so good. It was what made him a survivor and what had brought him to this. But every look that told him what a sad, pathetic creature he'd become, ripped out another little part of him. Put up another bar to his cage. A bad place to be.
Even with his eyes closed, he could still feel her gazing at him. What was it with women and tragic figures? He could be a mass murderer for all she knew, and yet here she was, giving him that I could be the one to reform you look. What the hell would she do if he gave her a real eyeful, let her see exactly what he'd become. An empty shell. Nothing.
The policeman sitting next to him prodded him with his elbow, something he'd been doing periodically to show who was boss. Taylor shifted in his seat, raised his eyebrows and lifted his handcuffed wrist a few inches to show he wasn't going anywhere. The man flashed him a toothy grin and leaned across to take a drink from the attendant.
Stupid man. Jacket gaping open, gun on display for God's sake. Surely they'd been properly briefed? Didn't they realise he already had it planned? Two seconds, that's all it would take. Grab the gun, point it at the nuns. Get the pilot to fly him somewhere safe. Easy, but then what?
It would start all over again. That's what.
Pair of incompetents, the both of them; should have had him in the window seat at the very least. Hell, they shouldn't have let other passengers on the flight. But then they all knew how this would end. They were all willing participants in this carefully plotted charade.
Taylor chose a whisky, downed it in one and saluted the policemen with his empty glass. The man beside him muttered something under his breath. The other ripped open a packet of peanuts and tipped back his head to pour them into his mouth. They thought they had his number. A pussy-cat on a lead? He was here only because he wanted to be. Taylor closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. They really were stupid, stupid men.
And the blonde-haired woman, who was now hidden behind a magazine? He hadn't expected her to make him smile. A long time since he'd smiled. Perhaps there was something left in him, after all.
Chapter 2
Only another two hours to go. Danielle checked her watch again and closed her eyes. With so few passengers the cabin was quiet. Nothing to do but listen to the sound of the engines and wonder when they would drop off the plane. And to top it all, the attendant was suddenly sporting a decidedly worried look which definitely hadn't been there at the beginning of the flight.
Maybe she has indigestion? Or maybe not, the voice in the back of Danielle's mind insisted.
Danielle turned to the window, but within minutes was leaning out into the aisle to get a better view, wondering if she should call the attendant over and ask her outright if there was a problem. The attendant stood near to the door separating the flight deck from the rest of the plane, nodding and talking rapidly to one of the crew. Danielle pushed her call button. The young woman looked up. Briefly she spoke again, before closing the door and smiling at Danielle.
"Can I get you anything, miss? Another drink, perhaps?"
"Is everything okay? I thought I felt a bit of a jolt back there." Danielle watched her carefully. She'd tried this one a dozen times and always got the same answer. "No problem miss, planes do that, there's nothing wrong."
Only this time she detected a slight hesitation before the reassuring words. Danielle was a world-class expert on disaster movies. The woman was stalling her.
"Are you sure, because I definitely felt..."
"There is nothing wrong, miss. Please calm down or you will scare the other passengers."
The attendant hurried back to the front of the plane and disappeared through the door into the cockpit. Danielle looked around. Apart from a brief glance from one of the men in black when she'd pressed the call button, none of the other passengers seemed to be the slightest bit concerned. The nuns hadn't moved from their seats. The businessman's hand hung limply over the aisle armrest as if he were asleep. How could they be so casual? One of the men in black was asleep too, mouth open, snoring lightly. The other alternated between staring at Danielle's legs and looking out of the window. And the man in handcuffs had returned to the catatonic position he'd been in for most of the flight.
Ten minutes later, the plane gave a lurch and banked steeply to the right. Danielle grabbed at her armrests and looked wildly about her. What the hell was that? The plane levelled abruptly as her shoulder hit the window. The attendant reappeared and this time there was no mistaking the fear clouding her face.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she began in a shaky voice, "We may have a small problem."
Small problem? Danielle's heart started a heavy thudding that accelerated with each beat. Problem? There couldn't be. Her hypnotherapist had insisted the odds of a plane actually crashing were – well, she couldn't remember exactly, but they were tiny.
The attendant raised her arms. Crash position? What the hell was she talking about crash positions for? This couldn't be happening.
Only it was, because the man in handcuffs was suddenly alert and paying attention. Leaning out into the aisle, watching the flight attendant intently, he looked not exactly scared, but definitely concerned. And if he, who had hardly blinked during the flight, was showing emotion, then it must be serious.
Their eyes met again. He pointed to her seat belt and then spoke to her. If she hadn't been seated, she would have taken a step back at the sound. Not a single word had passed his lips for the whole flight and now he was speaking to her in a low, slightly clipped, English accent. A little rough around the edges – like the kind of accent that might have changed over the years.
The plane gave another lurch. One of the nuns screamed, long and loud. Danielle kept her eyes squarely on the man's face. His mouth opened and closed. She was too terrified to make out the words. Jolted out of her seat, she hit the floor thinking that it must be something important, but she'd never know because they were all about to die.
* * * *
"Do your seat belt up!" Taylor shouted across at the woman who was looking at him, but didn't seem to be hearing him. "Your seat belt, do it – hell!" He watched her fall
into the aisle, made a grab for her and missed. Stretching as far as he could, he tried to reach her. The policeman sitting next to him shouted at him to sit down, tugging on his tee-shirt to pull him back. Taylor pushed him off and reached out again. The one sitting opposite them barked something at his hysterical partner and unclipped his seatbelt. Standing unsteadily, he stepped into the aisle, shoved unceremoniously past Danielle, and made his way to the cockpit. Taylor put everything he had into one final stretch and managed to lock a hand around her wrist and pull her up towards him.
"Can you hear me?" he shouted above the noise of the now-screaming engines. The plane banked again. He pulled her hard against him, knowing that if he let go she'd be seriously injured. Her hands closed around his arms, her nails dug into his flesh and he heard her sharp intake of breath. Saw the terror in her eyes, only inches away from his, desperately seeking reassurance.
How could he tell her he didn't have it in him to feel the same fear? That this impending disaster was most-likely for his benefit and he didn't care if the plane crashed and they all died? It banked steeply again and he wasn't sure whether the pain of her grip on his arms, or her tears, falling freely now, were what made him realise that was no longer true. Their survival was already linked. He had to save her life, and in doing so she might just save his.
For the first time in two years Taylor wanted to live, instead of die. Bloody ironic. Regaining the will to live moments before the plane he was in fell out of the sky and killed them all? Probably the funniest thing that had happened to him in years. The laughter was totally inappropriate, but once started, he couldn't stop. The woman raised startled eyes to his while he lowered his forehead to her arm and fought for control.
Setting Him Free Page 1