Becky Avella - Crash Landing

He hopped to the ground and looked around. He recognized where they were, of course—he’d been exploring this land from the time he could walk—but on his left stood a newly constructed storage shed he’d never seen before. When had that been built? There was no need for storage this far out.

His neck hairs rose. “See anybody around?”

“No. No one,” Deanna whispered. “Let’s check out the plane.”

Sean stepped to follow her, but the sliding click, click of a shotgun shell chambering froze him in place.

Then a voice behind him made a promise that sent ice through Sean’s veins. “Take one more step, and I’ll blow both your heads off.”

TWO

Deanna’s heart hammered against her sternum. This was her fault. She’d led Sean right into this trap, making it seem like she had his best interest at heart because she was curious. She’d even manipulated Sean with promises about his missing father. What kind of person did that?

She owed it to Sean to figure out an escape. But how?

The cool metal tucked into her waistband reminded her she had options. Her fingers twitched above her head. All she had to do was lower her hands, grab the gun and then point it at the creep behind them. Simple. That’s what the gun was for. She just couldn’t make herself move.

“We’ll keep our hands up,” Sean said, “but we’re going to turn around now. Don’t shoot.”

How could he be so calm? Deanna couldn’t think straight. She doubted she could even speak, but here was Sean telling this guy how it was going to be as if he were one of Sean’s hired hands.

Without waiting for permission, Sean turned, keeping his hands high. Deanna hesitated for a beat and then followed his lead, brittle pine needles crunching under her boots as she turned. The shotgun’s barrel rose dead even with Sean’s head, making Deanna’s throat constrict. She tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry.

“Don’t move!” the guy behind the gun demanded. He sounded nervous. Scared enough to pull the trigger?

“Easy,” she begged.

He looked to be in his twenties, about the same age as Deanna and Sean, but it was clear he wasn’t local. He was dressed head to toe in baggy black clothes that were far too heavy for the hot weather. The muddy brown eyes under his bushy brows were hard, his mouth set in a menacing snarl. On his face was a lazy attempt at a goatee, nothing more than a thin mustache and a scraggly patch of hair on his chin.

He was just a skinny city boy. Sean had three inches’ height on him and at least fifty more pounds of muscle. If they could disarm him somehow, Sean could take this guy.

Sean didn’t seek out chances to prove his masculinity like some men she knew, but Deanna had seen him win a fight before. A couple of drunk, loudmouthed bullies had targeted Sean at Roundup two years ago. He’d been forced to defend himself, which he’d done swiftly and surely. They’d never messed with him again.

Even staring down the barrel of a shotgun, Deanna felt safer having him next to her. Given the right opportunity and a fair fight, she was confident that Sean would win here, too. But even if they could take the shotgun out of the picture, this guy didn’t look like the type to fight fair. He seemed more of the street-fighter type. He’d probably make up for the difference in size by pulling a switchblade out of those baggy clothes.

Her eyes swept the area. They were trapped. The pilot and his gun blocked their direct path back to her plane, and there was no other escape route that she could see. If they turned and ran for the trees, he’d shoot them in the back. She wasn’t even sure if he was the only man out here.

Her elbows bent slightly, and her hands lowered a few centimeters. Could she do it? How fast could she get the gun out of her waistband?

“Hands up,” he commanded. She obeyed quickly, raising her arms as high as she could get them.

Her gaze passed over the wooden shed next to the other plane. A lot of cargo could fit in there. More cargo than one plane could hold?

“You’re the other pilot, right? Weren’t you expecting us?” It was a risk, but it felt right.

She looked at Sean and tried to send him an unspoken message to follow her lead. The confused expression on his face dissipated as he caught on to the game she was playing.

Sean cleared his throat. “Yeah. Didn’t anyone tell you we were coming?” His acting skills could use some work, but he’d joined her charade without missing a beat.

“Who are you?” the pilot demanded, the tip of his gun wavering. “Pritchard never said nothing about another plane.”

Deanna bit back the obvious question. Pritchard? She’d never heard the name before. Time to wing it again.

“Well, he told us—” she amped up the annoyance in her voice “—that there’d be too much cargo for one plane. That you would need our help.”

She flicked one of her raised hands in the direction of her Cessna. “We’re supposed to help you transport.”

The gun’s tip relaxed slightly. Was he buying it?

“You didn’t think we landed for a picnic, did you?” she said.

Deanna blinked rapidly. The sweat she couldn’t wipe away stung her eyes. She arranged her face into what she hoped was a confident expression. This guy couldn’t see fear on her face or he’d see right through her act.

Indecision danced across his features, but something else—something possessive and dark—dawned in his eyes, taking its place. His gaze traveled from Deanna’s head to her feet as if he were seeing her for the first time. Heat filled her cheeks. Every part of her begged her to run from this predator, but she couldn’t.

He stepped closer to Deanna, and a hissing sound escaped from Sean. Sean took a step forward. The guy waved the shotgun back at Sean’s face.

“Get back!”

Deanna wouldn’t want to be alone with a guy like this, but she needed to use the attraction to her advantage before Sean’s cowboy code of honor got them both shot.

She added sweetness to her voice. “While we wait, can we put our arms down? Please? They’re killing me.”

He shuffled his feet and lowered the gun another centimeter. “Yeah. Fine. Put them down, but don’t move until someone gets out here to tell me what’s going on.”

He locked eyes with Sean, his mouth lifting in a cocky half smile. “I’ve shot a man before. I’ll do it again if I need to.”

Deanna froze, believing him. His eyes were so cold. He looked like a killer, like he’d follow through on that promise without a moment of guilt. She lowered her arms slowly, the gun against her stomach calling to her. I’m here—use me.

There was nothing to make her care about this guy, but still, he was a human being with a beating heart. She’d prepared for scenarios like this—she’d bought the gun for self-defense—but facing a real flesh-and-blood threat made her second-guess herself. It made her imagine blood and death. Even if she could get the gun out, could she pull the trigger?

Her questions took too long. Suddenly the pilot spun her, shoved the shotgun’s tip between her shoulder blades and frisked her. He had her pistol in his hands before she could react to stop him.

“Hiding something?” he mocked, waving the gun in front of her face. Her fists clenched. He was too close, sharing too much of her air.

“Like you’d be out here unarmed,” she snapped.

Without the gun against her belly, she was small and vulnerable. And stupid. How could she have lost the gun? Her debt to Sean had just multiplied.

“You armed?” the pilot asked Sean.

“No.”

“Right,” the man sneered. “Just like she wasn’t.”

“I’m not armed,” Sean said.

“Show me,” he commanded. “And don’t try anything. She isn’t too pretty to shoot.”