Mary Ellen Porter - Off The Grid Christmas

But Kane was past them, the wheels lifting from asphalt, the plane soaring into the sky. Below, the men were firing. The distinctive metallic pings as several bullets pierced the plane’s fuselage left no doubt that some of the rounds had hit their mark.

“Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree, such pleasure do you bring me!” Arden was nearly screaming the song now, the cat still yowling, the engine roaring.

But they were up, so far away from the gunmen the bullets were ineffective. Whatever damage had been done was done. He assessed the instrument panel, looking for potential trouble.

Arden had stopped her quirky rendition of “O Christmas Tree.” The cat had stopped yowling. The only sound was the whir of the engine. It sounded smooth. No coughs or hiccups, but the fuel pressure gauge dipped and a red light flashed ominously on the panel.

“That,” Arden said, jabbing her finger toward the light, “does not look good.”

“We’ll be fine.” He hoped. There was a problem with the left flap on the wing of the plane. For now he could still fly, but depending on the issue, his ability to control altitude and speed of the aircraft could definitely be affected—the higher they flew, the worse it would be. More of a concern was the fuel pressure gauge that was definitely reading lower than it should. If they lost fuel pressure, they’d have no choice but to make an emergency landing.

“Define fine,” she demanded, her face so pale even her lips were white. She had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and a face that was more intriguing than beautiful. She also had a brain that rivaled anyone Kane had ever met—she’d definitely give his academically focused parents and those in their social circle a run for their money.

Lying to her wasn’t going to work.

Even if it would have, he wasn’t going to do it. Truth was always the best way. Even if the truth was sometimes difficult to swallow.

“A bullet may have hit the wing flap,” he said, bracing himself for Arden’s full-out panic.

To his surprise, she simply nodded.

“That’s what I thought. I suppose you have a plan?”

“Yeah. Get the plane back down and fix the problem.”

“Is there another airport close by?”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t run the risk of landing anywhere in Maine if I can help it.” GeoArray seemed to have connections and resources. He was pretty sure the company could quickly mobilize the troops wherever he put down.

“What if you can’t make it out of Maine?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” And if Kane was reading the gauges correctly, they’d be fortunate to make it across the border into New Hampshire.

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