When the pilot clicks the intercom, I expect him to inform us we’re about to land but instead, he says, “Hey, an unknown woman stole a Cessna in Reynosa, and the US Border Patrol is in the air, trying to turn her around.”
“Can I listen in?” Popping out of my seat, I rush to the front where I’m handed a headset.
Upon hearing her voice, I pump my fist in the air and shout to the back, “She’s alive.”
While the others put on their headsets, a male voice sounds in my ear. “Sure you are, honey.”
Cool and collected, my woman rattles off her name and social security number but the arsehole snickers. “Nice try, lady.”
Starting to panic, she speaks faster. “Listen. Please. Call a supervisor who can verify who I am. The Mexicans stole my ID. They attempted to rape me. I barely got away.”
Bloody hell. They need to let her land.
“Sorry honey, you can try the consulate in the morning.” He’ll be lucky to pilot the kiddy rides at the carnival when I get done suing his bloody arse.
“Can I speak?” I poke our pilot’s shoulder.
After turning a couple nobs, he nods. “Go ahead.”
“Landy, you copy me? Over.” My voice shakes over the airwaves.
“Good copy, Dash. Glad you’re back in the states.”
“What are you doing?” My anger isn’t at her, but I have no place else to direct it.
“Tryin’ to stay alive but these good ol’ boys are insisting I land on the wrong side of the border.”
Counting to ten, I try to reason with the jet pilot who wants to send her back. “Homeland Security? I can verify she’s a US citizen and was taken against her will.”
“I’m sorry sir, but I can’t let her land without causing an international incident.”
“If anything happens to her, I will hunt you down. Landy, you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Stall as long as you can. We’re coming for you, luv.” I take a deep breath, then speak to the bloke giving her shit. “This is your last chance, homeland pilot, you either let her land or I become your worst nightmare.”
Chapter 10
Landy
I have two choices. I can fly back to the Mexican airport, where I just stole a cargo plane, or land in the jungle. The left engine coughs, an alarm sounds, and I curse at the fuel gauge. Fuck. Time’s up. I’m not going anywhere but straight down.
Below me, a helicopter sits on top of the familiar green netting. What are the odds someone found the landing strip by accident?
I speak in my headset. “Clear the runway. I repeat. Leave the damn runway.”
“Copy that, pilot. Start your descent.” I don’t recognize the voice, but I heave a sigh of relief when the rotors turn.
As the bird moves away, both my engines stop, and in the scary silence, I struggle to pull up on the yoke. Out of fuel, it may be impossible to land. A crosswind tips the craft sideways and I adjust, but I’m going too slow. There is no second try. I either hit the mark or die.
My underside connects with a tree, and I tip sideways. Following a terrifying screech of metal, one of my wings tears free of the fuselage. Almost to the ground, a branch breaks through the windshield and impales the copilot’s seat. My arms crossed over my face, I shield my eyes from the crumbling glass.
The trees give way to the runway and as I slow to a stop, the helicopter from before lands at the tip of my mangled plane.
Two armed men jump out, and as they begin firing, all the lights go out. In the pitch dark, I kick out the front window, climb over the wreckage, and slide down to the plastic netting. From there, I race to the foliage.
With more shots ringing out, I dare not say anything. However, I do move closer to the grunting men and sounds of hand-to-hand combat.
