Danielle sat back and surveyed her handiwork. "All done," she said watching him carefully. Her gaze moved to the front of the plane. "Do you think we should go look?"
Taylor put out his good arm and stopped her. "I'll go. I should be able to get through that gap."
She pulled him back. "No, Taylor. You keep that arm still. Let me."
"It's not something you need to see, Danielle. Won't be pretty."
"Neither is he." She pointed to the dead policeman, at the same time averting her eyes.
Taylor had already noticed she'd been carefully avoiding the body. Should have covered him up. God knows what the sight of mangled, dead nuns would to do to her.
"Do you ever do as you're told?" he said, already knowing the answer. This was a woman used to getting her own way. She'd do it anyway, with or without him.
"Not really. Look Taylor, let's do it together, okay?"
He gave a brief nod. "Deal. But let me go first."
Taylor crouched and turned sideways to squeeze himself through a gap in the crushed seats near the front of the plane. He reached through to help Danielle, who wriggled after him. He kept hold of her, letting his eyesight adjust to the dim light. It no longer looked like a plane and he didn't want her stumbling over any of the bodies.
"Stay with me." He felt for her hand and looked around, taking in the crushed bodies of the two nuns and the businessman behind them. No sign of the pilots. No sign of the cockpit. Instead, a tangle of metal and a gaping hole. He pushed Danielle behind him to stop her falling through. Spotted the flight attendant's body at the same time she did. Felt her hand tighten in his, heard her sharp intake of breath.
"Go back, Danielle." One look at her stricken face and he urged her back, breathing a sigh of relief when she went without question. He knew what she must be feeling. Disbelief, that what you're seeing can't be real. He wasn't worried about the dead. They were beyond anyone's help, but he'd hoped the radio might still be intact. The black box flight recorder would have some sort of homing beacon in it, but he'd have preferred a working radio.
Taylor checked the bodies for signs of life, found the business-man's mangled phone, wondering where the pilots and the second policeman were. Knowing that they needed to get the dead away from the plane before they attracted any wild animals.
Danielle's eyes widened in silent question when he reappeared. She moved tentatively towards him as he shook his head. Watching her face crumple a little as she fought back the tears, he envied the compassion she had to spare for complete strangers, while he was struggling to feel anything at all. He knew that he needed to keep this woman safe, but beyond that – nothing. No thought for himself. Right now she was all he had. His only reason to be here.
She had no idea how much he needed her.
* * * *
Danielle didn't cry – it would open floodgates that couldn't easily be closed. There weren't enough tears for what she'd seen in there.
"You were right," she said quietly, "I shouldn't have looked. But I'm glad I did. I'd only have spent the whole time worrying that one of them was still alive."
"I know. Try not to think about it."
Danielle pressed her lips together and nodded. Death had never walked so closely to her before. Only pure luck separated her fate from that of the battered and broken bodies all around them.
"You've pulled off your sling," she said clicking her tongue as if Taylor were a naughty child. "After all my hard work." Reaching out to smooth it back into place, she busied herself with the mundane – the rest was almost too much to comprehend.
She fretted over him, and he stayed very still, as if he understood her need to anchor herself somehow. To feel something warm and real, not cold and dead like the others around them. With the sling back in place, her hands continued moving across his chest, gliding over the soft cotton of his tee-shirt, feeling his hard muscles twitching beneath them.
Is it really me doing this? she thought. It felt unreal, like watching herself in a movie.
But there he was, warm and hard beneath her fingers. With wide-eyed fascination, she watched her hand skim over his shoulders, and only now was their situation really sinking in.
"We're alive, Taylor."
"Yes."
She shivered when his hand moved too and his feather-light touch left a trail of goosebumps from her wrist to her shoulder. Breathing was suddenly an effort for both of them. She could feel his chest rising and falling, and when she looked up his face was set, entirely focused on the movement of his hand.
More than sexual, it was an affirmation. Proof that she wasn't imagining this. He really was alive. Which meant that she must be too, or how could she be feeling this? They'd both survived. Luck or destiny? Who knew? Who cared? The two of them were here, and the others weren't. Danielle thought she'd been alive before, but was only just realising what being alive meant. How it really felt.
She circled her arms around Taylor's waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. Listening to the steady thudding of his heart, she realised that normal rules didn't apply any more. A dead body lay just a few feet away and all she could think of was the hot, hard man in her arms. The feel of his hand moving over her skin. The tangy smell of his damp tee-shirt filling her senses.
One move, that's all it would take. Danielle closed her eyes. This was a dangerous attraction.
* * * *
Christ, the feel of her hands . Pure lust coursed through Taylor. When she'd fixed his arm, it had been vaguely erotic. Small pulses of feeling, drowsily relaxing. Her nearness, the way her fingers fluttered over his skin, her scent, they'd worked on his senses in a pleasurable, controllable way. But this, her hands moving over him, sure and determined, the force of it slammed him in the gut, and he wanted to have her, right there in the aisle, with the dead body next to them. Hard and fast, until she screamed out his name. It would be good, something they both needed, and - he squashed the feeling down - unfortunately, something they'd both probably regret like hell.
Her skin felt deliciously soft under his roving hand, which had no business being there, doing that. She wasn't stopping him and he was having a hard time stopping himself. His fingers moved towards the curve of her shoulder and slipped under the open collar of her blouse. He caressed her slowly, deliberately, needing to prove to himself that he did still have control. That he could resist this wild, primitive feeling as long as he had to. But when she laid her head so trustingly against his chest, he felt suddenly lost. When they finally said goodbye he would never forget this woman.
Sliding his palm to the middle of her back, he pulled her close and let her feel exactly what she was doing to him.
Why couldn't I have met her before all this? She might have saved me. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, making her tremble.
She might still.
* * * *
"What do we do now Taylor?"
Danielle leaned back. Her hands stayed where they were, lightly resting on his hips. Every passing moment brought a new awareness of danger, and she needed this reassurance he offered so freely. He made a circle of safety with his arms, and she stepped into it, without hesitation. Would she have felt like this if it had been one of the others who had survived and Taylor who'd died? She would have helped any of the survivors without pause, but this was different. More than just two people thrown together in a dangerous situation. They'd known each other a couple of hours, so why did she already feel as if she'd been in this man's arms a lifetime?
She caught a flash of something in his eyes, flaring for a split second before he masked it. Her breath caught, and her fingers tightened on his hips. Intense longing with an edge of unashamed lust told her he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Too tempting. They both stood on the very edge of control, and she thought fleetingly about giving in. Who would know? Who was there to judge whether this was right or wrong?
The problem wasn't that and he knew it too. With a sigh of regret and a smile that cause
d small crinkles at the corner of his eyes, he lifted his hand and touched his palm gently to her cheek. Danielle caught it with hers and held it there. Whatever happened, they couldn't be together. If they started anything now, all they'd have would be memories. Better to step away now, and save both of them the heartache. To persuade him to run she needed to be detached. Emotion would only cloud the issue.
Stepping back was hard. His eyes narrowed when she let go of his hand and moved away. With a small nod of understanding, he turned his attention to the dead policeman. "Reckon we need to move him."
Danielle hugged herself while Taylor walked over to the body and searched through the policeman's jacket. A small feeling of panic welled up inside her when he methodically stripped the corpse of its personal possessions. Wallet, watch, ring, was he stealing them? Had she been wrong about him after all? He held the items out to her.
"Find a bag or something to keep these in. Going to need them for ID."
She hesitated for a moment before taking them. Relief filtered through the panic. Of course, the next-of-kin would want the things back. They'd need to know that their loved ones really had been on the plane.
"There's a carrier-bag in my hand luggage." Danielle accepted the items, thinking they looked sad sitting there in her hands. These few things that said nothing about who the dead man really was. "Do you need to get the rest?"
"In a bit." Taylor had hold of the body and with a tug, rolled it to the floor. Using his good arm, he grabbed the back of the man's collar and dragged the corpse the few feet to the exit door. After a few moments of struggling with the catch, he shoved at the door with his shoulder. It gave with a sharp crack and the body rolled unceremoniously over the edge. Taylor stepped back, letting the door close again under its own momentum.
The body hit the ground with a soft thud. Danielle looked away because she didn't want Taylor to see the look of horror on her face. How could he be so cold, so disrespectful? A human being, probably someone's husband and father, treated now like no more than a sack of potatoes.
When she turned back, Taylor was wiping his hands on the back of the seat. He caught her expression.
"Sorry, Danielle. It needed doing." He continued wiping his hands, face impassive. "He's dead, and he'll attract flies or maybe something bigger. Trust me. I know what I'm doing." He turned to face her.
Yes, she could see that. All this death and gore didn't seem to bother him in the slightest and she had to wonder how someone could get to a stage where none of this touched them. The front of his tee-shirt and the sling were streaked with the man's blood now. It made her stomach churn.
"You've got blood all over you." She pointed to his chest, remembering how she'd touched him and shuddering at the thought of touching him now.
Taylor grabbed the bottom of his tee-shirt, looked at it, and pulled a face. "Need to get this off." He glanced at her almost apologetically. "Could you help?"
Danielle's fingers trembled. Whether from the idea of touching him again, or because of the blood, she wasn't sure. Maybe both. How did they remove the shirt without hurting his arm? No problem slipping it off his good arm, but getting it past the sling was another matter. The last thing she expected was to hear the giggle that escaped him when her fingers brushed over his side. A strange sound to be coming out of such a hard-looking man. She raised her eyebrows in astonishment, and couldn't resist. Her hand went back to his side and, sure enough, there it was again, along with a wriggle of his hips as he tried to evade her.
"Hey, cut that out!"
Danielle moved her hand again, then away quickly, smiling at the way she'd made him flinch. Totally inappropriate behaviour for two people who, only a few moments ago, had been preoccupied with dumping a dead body out of the door of a crashed plane. Or for two people who were becoming more and more attracted to each other with every passing moment. They were making their own rules now. The dead man was already out of her mind. She pushed the tee-shirt up, and over Taylor's head, and pondered how to get it past the sling.
Taylor hissed in a breath when she slipped the shirt down his broken arm. He raised a hand to show that he was okay. Danielle felt her cheeks heating up at the sight before her. Lean and powerful, hard, a few jagged scars standing out in relief. Exactly how she'd imagined he'd look.
Another tee-shirt, she thought, frantically wondering where she might find one big enough for him. She caught sight of her carry-on, which was stuffed with giveaways. She dropped to her knees and rummaged through.
"There," she said, holding up a white tee-shirt emblazoned with the Tropicana logo. "This should fit. Let's get it on you."
Taylor backed sharply away, one hand raised to ward off the offending garment. "You have to be kidding. Look, I'm okay without a shirt. It's hardly cold."
"Don't be such a baby," Danielle scolded, a hand threaded through the neck of the tee-shirt. "Get your head in there."
"I'm fine, really I am."
The poor man looked as if he might make a run for it, but what could she say? I need you to put this on because the sight of your bare chest makes me want to throw myself at you? Because those rippling muscles are doing funny things to my insides and I want to start touching you and never stop?
"Just get it on, will you? Believe me, you need this on."
She wasn't sure if he'd caught her meaning. He relented and bowed his head so she could slip the clean shirt over. Not as tricky as getting the stained one off, although the ritual was the same. Fingers grazing sensitive flesh, and heat. She was so hot her cheeks were on fire.
Luckily, the shirt made him look utterly ridiculous and broke the tension. With his good arm held out, he stood for her approval and, as she tried to stifle a giggle, she realised that it just didn't make him look silly, it made him look normal. Like any other tourist. If he'd wanted to disappear, he could have, easily. Why on earth was he at the Tropicana dressed in that black get-up, advertising to the world that he was there? The black didn't look like a costume or a disguise. It looked like him.
He'd set himself up, she realised with a jolt. Wanted to be caught. But why?
Chapter 5
Taylor disappeared again through the gap in the wrecked front of the plane, saying only that he wanted to sort out the rest of the passengers. Danielle didn't ask questions. She made her way to the galley and busied herself foraging for food instead. Taylor obviously knew what he was doing. The details, she didn't want to know.
Laughing inwardly at the fact that they'd already reverted to primal roles, she opened the small refrigerator and assessed the meagre contents. A milk carton, some rather sorry-looking vacuum-packed sandwiches, an assortment of canned soft drinks and a stack of gourmet cheese slices. Not much, but they ought to eat the fresh food before it spoiled in the heat. She grabbed a tray and loaded it with a meal of sorts, hoping Taylor wouldn't reappear covered in blood again. The thought made her stomach turn over.
Thank God she wasn't alone. She muttered a quick prayer of thanks. Waiting alone for rescue surrounded by maimed corpses didn't bear thinking about.
Back in the aisle she peeped out of the tiny window, its ledge already crawling with insects pouring in through the cracked glass, and tried to work out where they'd come down. Five islands made up the small group, but two hours of flying time meant that they'd probably come down on the mainland, somewhere in the tropical rainforest. Even if the plane did have a homing beacon, without a radio it could be days before they were found.
And man, the heat. Her short cotton skirt and blouse were plastered to her like a second skin. Oh to be able to take them off and wander around in her underwear. Not very sensible with the way Taylor had been looking at her. She'd undone the buttons and knotted the blouse under her breasts to bare her midriff, but she knew there would be no respite until the daily downpour.
She looked around for a place to set up the meal, amazed at how untouched this part of the plane was. Apart from a few broken windows and a slight tilt to the floor which made
walking and balancing a tray slightly more difficult than she'd anticipated, everything appeared almost normal. A can of cola suddenly slid towards the edge of the tray and, before she could react, it rolled off and disappeared under a seat. Danielle put down the tray and crouched low, arm extended, feeling around for the precious drink. It was still cold, a luxury they couldn't afford to miss out on.
Her hand found something metallic, but not the smooth cylinder of a drinks can. Slowly she pulled the object out, staring with amazement at the gun, which she could only suppose had come from one the enigmatic men in black. Sitting sat back on her heels, the can of cola forgotten, she glanced towards the front of the plane.
The gun had been tucked under a seat near the exit. Only Taylor could have put it there. Why had he felt the need to hide it? Danielle weighed it in her hand. The first time she'd handled one. With a morbid fascination, she wondered if it was loaded and whether she'd be ever be able to kill something, or someone, if forced to.
A snake yes. She hated snakes and wouldn't think twice about that, but a human being? All it took was a small squeeze. How did they do it in films? Bring your other hand up, brace your arms straight, then sight along the barrel. Bang, you're dead. Easy as that. Stretching out her arms, she closed one eye and pretended to fire off a shot.
"Christ. Danielle, don't move!"
Taylor stood in front of her, right in her line of fire, good arm raised, palm forward. She'd been so intent on the gun she hadn't noticed him reappearing. For a split second he'd looked terrified.
"Taylor?" The gun trembled in her hands and she knew she ought to lower it, or drop it, but now every muscle in her body seemed to have frozen.
Setting Him Free Page 3