Jenna Mills - Crossfire

Call me a fool, but “Be all you can be” actually meant something to me.

A smart woman would have turned away, looked straight ahead. Maybe even closed her eyes. But Elizabeth found it hard to look away. He looked deceptively casual sitting there with his headset on, faded jeans hugging his long legs, and the sleeves of his khaki shirt rolled up. On a glance he looked like a thousand other ex-military corporate pilots…except for the Glock shoved snugly into his leather shoulder holster.

“What do you think about when you fly?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Hawk took a long sip from a bottle of water. “I try not to think at all. I prefer to savor.”

Elizabeth smiled. Hawk loved flying every bit as much as she did. Before their relationship had become overly complicated, he’d taken her up often, sharing with her the promise of an early-spring dawn and the vibrancy of a late-summer sunset.

“Have you been up much since the shooting?”

“You know what they say about not keeping a good man down,” he answered with a grin. “I was back up—”

The change was subtle at first, a yaw like brakes on ice. They lurched forward, then backward. Then came the deafening roar of silence. The swirl of amber lights. The drone of buzzers.

And the plane went from fast forward to slow motion.

“Shit!” Hawk grabbed the yoke and immediately launched into the emergency procedures he’d drilled into her.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “We’re losing altitude!” It wasn’t a dizzying rush or a spiraling plummet, just a gentle sinking in the air, drifting.

The hallmark of an aircraft with no power.

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