Allison Brennan - If I Should Die

She waited a minute, unsure if the plane was still moving, her heart racing, blood dripping from her mouth and head, her body bruised.

But she was alive.

“Lucy!”

“I’m okay.”

“We need to get out.” Noah undid his harness and turned himself around so he was squatting, his feet on the ceiling. “Shield your eyes.”

He kicked at the door and it released.

Lucy fumbled with her harness, but her fingers weren’t working right. She couldn’t see what she was doing. Noah reached over and with one hand released the lock. She would have fallen on her head, but Noah took her under her arms and pulled her out.

“I’m okay,” she repeated.

“You’re bleeding and disoriented and shaking.”

“Sorry,” she said automatically.

He leaned her against the plane and said, “Sit for a minute. I’m going to grab what I can.”

Her heart was racing and her hands were shaking as she brushed her hair away from her face and came away with blood.

Noah was at her side a minute later and took her hand. She tried to focus on him. “Lucy?”

“Fine,” she said, her voice sounding as though she were speaking in a tunnel. “I’m fine.”

He squeezed her hand.

“We can take a minute.” He sat in front of her. “Let me look at that cut.”

He shined a light in her face. “Good reaction, but you might have a mild concussion. I know I do.” He opened a familiar black duffel bag. “Sean always comes prepared,” he said. “Emergency supplies, extra guns, ammo. Black clothing-he even has a jacket in your size. And of course a first aid kit.”

He took gauze and wiped the blood from her face, folded it, poured water on it, and wiped more. He then found a clean piece of gauze and said, “Hold this against the cut. I’m going to try to find a phone, then we have to go. They’ll be able to find us real quick.”

He stood and looked at the upside-down plane. “I don’t think Sean will ever let me drive his car now.”

Noah stepped away and Lucy smiled at his joke. She searched her pockets for her phone, but didn’t find it.

In the distance, she thought she heard dogs.

“Noah?” she called.

He was already rounding the plane. “I heard them. We have to get out of here.”

He handed her a gun from the duffel. “I can’t find our phones, but there’s a radio in the bag and when we find cover, I’ll call this in.”

He strapped the duffel to his back and pulled Lucy up. Her legs buckled and Noah caught her. “Okay?” he said.

She nodded. Noah wrapped his arm around her waist and helped support her as she started walking. “You just need to get your landlegs back,” he said.

The dogs were getting closer, and now Lucy saw lights as well, but they were still on the other side of the lake. Once they reached the downed plane the dogs would pick up their scent.

They walked unsteadily across the field to the dirt road Lucy had seen from the air. It was easier to traverse than the rock-strewn field.

“I’m okay now,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Let’s pick up the pace; I want to get off this road ASAP.”

Over the barking dogs, they heard the roar of an ATV engine and they ran.

The Lock and Barrel was nearly empty.

Sean and Patrick sat at the bar; each had a bottled beer in front of them that they hadn’t drunk. Sean put down his phone. “That was Dillard. He knows where the Foster place is and is headed there now. ETA ninety minutes. Once Ricky is out of town, that’s one less person we have to worry about.”

“The bartender is very interested in us,” Patrick said.

“It’s pretty safe to say that he’s probably in on it, too.” Sean motioned for Trina to come over. She did so reluctantly. “Where is everyone?”

“Don’t know.” She shrugged, refusing to look at him. The bartender was still watching.

Sean smiled casually. “Odd for a Saturday night. We came in to say hi to Jon.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Trina said.

Sean leaned forward. Keeping the smile on his face, he whispered, “I know there’s trouble. I’m here to help.”

She bit her lip.

“Smile,” Sean told her.

She did. She looked ill. “Two more?” she asked brightly.

“We’re good.”

Sean waved to the bartender. “Reggie, do you know where Jon is tonight?”

“Nope.”

“What about your boss?”

At first, Reggie didn’t know what he meant. Then his eyes narrowed.

“Exactly. Your real boss. Where is she?”

“I’d tell you to get out of town,” Reggie said, “but it’s too late for that.”

Reggie reached under the bar and Patrick had his gun out so fast Sean almost hadn’t seen him move. “Keep your hands where I can see them,” Patrick ordered. The bartender complied.

“Where is Bobbie Swain?” Sean said. “You can get her a message for me, right?”

Reggie glared. “I’m sure you don’t want to do that.”

“Tell her I know what’s going on here, and there’s a price for my silence. Have her call me and we’ll talk. Got it?”

Reggie scowled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He put his business card on the bar and he and Patrick walked out.

“You bluffed?” Patrick said.

“I have to force her hand. If she thinks whatever they’ve got planned for tomorrow is at risk, she’ll expose herself. If we can neutralize her, I can get Henry Callahan and his wife and Ricky Swain to safety.”

“You know, it has yet to be proven that Bobbie Swain has committed any crimes,” Patrick said.

“So she’s wanted for questioning,” Sean said. “Does that work?”

They got into the truck and Sean headed toward the Foster property on the far side of the Hendrickson land.

“You must know the woman is up to her neck in illegal activity,” Sean said. “Drugs, perjury, conspiracy, murder.”

“Without any evidence-” Patrick quickly added.

“Yet,” Sean said. “That woman has been controlling this town for a long time. I just need one person to talk-and find whatever it was that Victoria Sheffield found that got her killed.”

Patrick shook his head. “Yeah, wish it were that easy. When are Lucy and Noah getting back?”

“They should be done with the reconnaissance and landing at a small airstrip outside Potsdam.”

His call to Lucy’s cell went straight to voice mail. He tried Noah’s. It rang six times, then went to voice mail.

He hung up. Cell reception in the air or the mountains was spotty. They’d left Albany nearly three hours ago, but they were making the loop around Spruce Lake searching for the drug warehouses Sean suspected were storing marijuana. Noah hadn’t sent him a location yet to check out; maybe they hadn’t found anything. Maybe Paul Swain had lied, hooking Sean in and diverting his attention.

Sirens cut through the air and Sean slowed down until he realized they were coming from the substation up the highway outside Spruce Lake and heading toward town. An engine and the chief’s truck passed him.

“Scanner,” Sean told Patrick.

Patrick opened Sean’s laptop and logged into the law enforcement frequency for the area. Sean’s program took the radio waves and converted them so he could listen over his computer.

Sean pulled over before he reached the turnoff that led to both the Callahans’ and Hendricksons’ places, and impatiently grabbed the laptop. It was his program; he’d find what he needed faster.

Small plane reportedly landed in distress three-point-two miles north-northeast of Highway 56 at marker A332. Survivors unknown .

Sean whipped the truck around and floored it, following the fire truck.

“We don’t know-” Patrick began.