Elizabeth Goddard - Treacherous Skies

The Lear increased speed down the runway until they lifted into the air. Connor’s elation soared with the jet, his relief palpable. “Now that we’re airborne, get us clearance so we can start climbing to altitude.”

Communications complete, they continued increasing altitude. Heart knocking against his rib cage, Connor felt more alive than he had in months. They had actually succeeded.

He released a long sigh, his adrenaline-powered energy expended for the moment. “We made it.”

“Are you saying you had any doubt? Because you sure went out of your way to convince me it would be a piece of cupcake.” Jake laughed, his face finally relaxing. “I can’t believe I survived that.”

“Yeah, I guess I still owe you, then.”

“I’m not sure you can afford to repay me.”

“That bad, huh?”

“With the time you spent in Iraq getting shot down, and then flying those test planes, I’d say you’re accustomed to facing death on a daily basis. Me? I enjoy life too much.”

“Sorry about that. This wasn’t exactly what I imagined we’d face, either.”

In repossessing the jet, he’d fully expected to walk into the airport, present the required documentation—insurance, lease termination, power of attorney, the works—then file a new flight plan and fly the plane out. That was before he and his copilot brother had discovered the Learjet had been moved to a private, uncontrolled airfield an hour and a half drive from the airport in Belize City.

That also was before they’d seen the two armed men lurking near the jet as though they were expecting a hostile takeover. But it didn’t matter anymore. He and Jake had the jet now, and Connor was on his way to getting his life back on track.

While serving as a fighter pilot, he’d crashed and burned once too often, and the Flying Evaluation Board had deemed him unable to fly safely. He’d lost his wings and served out the rest of his term as an Air Liaison Officer. Then as a test pilot, crash and burn had officially become his M.O. or modus operandi.

Though most people didn’t consider an ex-fighter pilot anything but a hero, Connor couldn’t help but think of himself as a loser. He’d wanted to be an Air Force hero like his dad, like his grandfather, but he’d failed miserably. Maybe if he switched gears and gave up the risky flying jobs altogether, he wouldn’t be the loser of the family anymore. He’d be able to get back on speaking terms with Reg, his older, overachieving brother.

If he’d gotten on track sooner, then maybe...Connor would still be engaged.

Retrieving the jet would secure him the funds he needed to buy the aeronautical business that serviced the airport, making him an FBO, or fixed-based operator, and keeping him firmly planted on the ground.

Too bad the only way to get those funds had been another risky job. Too bad he had the feeling that settling down wouldn’t be as easy as he thought.

Wanting to shake the negative thoughts, Connor stood to shrug out of his jacket. A loud bang resounded from the back of the cabin. Stunned silence passed between Connor and Jake.

“I’ll check it out,” Connor said.

Dread sliced through him as he exited the cockpit. He hadn’t even considered searching the plane first. He’d assumed Jake would have at least taken a cursory glance in the lavatory since he was the first one on. But then again they hadn’t exactly had time for anything besides a quick escape.

As he strode down the aisle he took in the extravagantly furnished and spacious cabin. Rich, supple leather covered the reclining seats and walls, and an elegant wood veneer, the cabinets and accent trim.

The pounding continued and he searched the compartments for a weapon. It was reasonable to expect a person that would hire security with Uzis would also store a weapon for personal protection somewhere on this rig. Connor almost wished he’d smuggled his nine millimeter into Belize with him. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk, but he hadn’t known then what he knew now.

“Connor,” Jake called from the cockpit.

He spun around. Jake dangled a firearm from the trigger guard. “Found it under the seat.”

Connor made his way back to retrieve the gun. Once he held the nine millimeter in his hands he made sure a few rounds were chambered.

Glock ’n’ roll.

Jake cleared his throat. “You know what happens when we shoot guns on planes, right?”

His brother worried too much. Though using a firearm in a pressurized cabin wasn’t the smartest thing, it wasn’t as if one bullet hole—or even several—in the fuselage would cause an explosive decompression.

Maybe just a slow pressure leak. Before Connor could return the sarcasm, the knocking grew louder.

Connor held his weapon at the ready and swallowed—the last thing he needed was a situation in which he was forced to actually use the gun in his hands.

He opened the door.

Terrified, honey almond eyes stared back at him, the woman’s mouth smothered with duct tape.

TWO

Maya stared down the barrel of a weapon aimed straight at her.

Her bravado bled out of her.

No, not like this!

She crumpled under the threat of a bullet to the head and pleaded with her eyes, while trying to force her muffled pleas through the duct tape. The man behind the gun narrowed his gaze as she begged with hers.

When he moved in, a sudden surge of desperation exploded inside her. Sitting back in the lavatory, she seized what she saw as her last chance of survival and kicked him in the face, slamming her tethered heels into his jaw.

The force of her kick propelled him against the wall opposite the door. Maya stood, prepared to fight her way out. Though stunned, he recovered too quickly.

He moved his jaw in an exaggerated way, as though testing the damage, but stood prepared, regarding her with caution.

“Listen, I’m not the bad guy here.” He put the gun away.

How did he expect her to believe that when he was on a plane headed to Bogotá, a kidnapped woman in tow? She screamed, the sound bursting through her head, and charged him.

He dodged, and she slammed into the wall. Raging pain burned through her shoulder, and though she tried to remain standing, turbulence and dizziness pushed her to the floor, where she lay heaving. Okay. So she couldn’t fight her way out of this with brawn; she’d have to use her brain—if only she hadn’t listened to her heart when her father called.

Strong arms cradled her, then lifted her from the floor. “It looks like you’ve been through the wringer, but I promise I had nothing to do with it.”

Maya started to buck in protest, despite the sincerity she heard in his voice.

“Shh.” He placed her gently into one of eight comfortable leather seats in a lavishly decorated cabin.

“If you’ll calm down long enough for me to remove the tape and the plastic ties, then maybe we can figure out what’s going on.”

Remaining in the cockpit, the other pilot leaned over in his seat to eye the situation. Maya glared at the man who stood over her, wishing her eyes were stilettos. Maybe she could stab him with her stare.

* * *

The woman could slice through him with the look she gave. Connor took a step back and shrugged, his heart pounding in rhythm with his jaw at this new development.

“Do you want me to set you free, or should I stuff you back in the lavatory?” Ouch. He cringed at his harsh tone.

Her body language wasn’t very encouraging, and he felt cruel for not immediately cutting her free. But she could pose a threat. At the moment, he didn’t have a clue what he was dealing with.

For a split second, he considered turning the plane around and giving her back. Finding an abducted woman inside the airplane he was repossessing was above his pay scale, or at least was another left-out detail for which he’d been unprepared. Regardless, he didn’t consider turning back to face submachine guns an option.