She flashed Bran an uneasy glance, saw that he was wearing the same expression he’d worn the night he’d gone after Tank, and her heart began to beat a little faster. Bran toggled switches and checked a panel of gauges, flipped more switches, then the wings suddenly tipped sideways as the left engine coughed, sputtered, and died.
Oh, my God!
“Fuck.”
Hysteria threatened, but she battled it down. Features grim, Bran worked to level the wings and attempted to restart the engine, adjusting the throttle and working levers, but the engine never fired.
“Something’s wrong with the fuel.” He cut the gas to the now silent engine and continued working switches and checking gauges. “If we lose the other engine, we’re in trouble. I need to find a place to set down.”
She swallowed, her heart racing, trying to pound its way through her ribs. She wondered if her face was as bloodless as it felt.
Bran nosed the plane downward, his gaze searching the vast open landscape beneath them. Jessie started looking, too, though she wasn’t sure what kind of spot he needed to land a twin-engine plane.
“Sh-shouldn’t we radio for help?”
Bran didn’t answer and she realized the other engine was sputtering, threatening to fail. Fear gripped her. Her stomach rolled with nausea. She had never liked flying. Now she knew why. Bran worked the controls, dropping altitude as fast as he dared, his gaze still scanning the ground below.
“There!” He pointed to a flat stretch of open land covered mostly with short, dry grass. The second engine was gasping and choking, the stall light buzzing, but the propeller was still spinning. She felt the landing gear lock into place and then he was lining up, leveling off, descending, the ground rushing up with frightening speed.
“Put your head down and brace yourself!” he commanded. The wheels barely missed a barbed wire fence and the second propeller went deadly silent.
Jessie jerked off her headset, braced, and covered her head. All she could hear was the whistle of wind as the wheels hit the ground with bone-jarring force, then the plane bounced into the air for a few terrifying seconds, fell to the ground again and kept rolling, skittering and bumping across the uneven landscape.
When the plane veered sideways, Bran fought the controls, keeping the nose straight ahead. Then one of the wheels hit something solid, bringing everything on that side of the plane to a sudden jarring halt, spinning the wings around in a half circle and flipping the plane into the air then down on its nose. The propellers chewed into the ground. One of the blades snapped off and a piece of metal flew through the windshield, shattering the Plexiglas. Jessie screamed as the world went black.
They were down. Bran shook his head to clear it, then forced himself to focus on what he needed to do. Hurriedly cleaning the board, he turned everything off to prevent a fire or explosion. As he finished the crucial task, he flicked a glance at Jessie, saw her sprawled unconscious in her seat, blood streaming down the side of her head. His insides clenched into a terrified knot, and everything inside him went cold.
“Jessie! Jessie!” His world seemed to tilt sideways as he popped his seat belt and leaned over her, checked for a pulse with a shaking hand. Feeling a soft, steady heartbeat, he told himself the burn behind his eyes was only a rush of relief.
Jessie moaned. He had to get her out of there, get her somewhere safe until he was sure the plane wasn’t going to explode into an inferno. He managed to open the bent cabin door and climb out, hurried around and opened the door on her side of the plane. Easing her down into his arms, he carried her a safe distance away and placed her carefully on the hard-packed earth.
“Jessie. Talk to me, baby.” Inspecting the streak of crimson on the side of her head, his mouth went dry. His usual control abandoned him, replaced by gut-wrenching fear. “Jessie!”
Her eyes fluttered open. She looked into his face, reached up and touched his cheek. “You’re...bleeding.”
His stomach unclenched, some of his fear receding. “I’m okay. We’re down. Everything’s okay.” He touched his forehead, came away with crimson streaks on his fingers, hadn’t realized some of the broken bits of Plexiglas had nicked him.
He looked at Jessie and took a shaky breath. “A chunk of the propeller came through the windshield and creased the side of your head. You were out for a couple of minutes so you’ve probably got a concussion. No idea how bad it is. How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts, but I’m not dizzy or anything.”
He held up three fingers. “How many do you see?”
“Five.” She grinned at the look on his face. “I’m kidding. Three fingers.”
He didn’t laugh, just unzipped his down vest and tore a chunk off the bottom of his Henley, folded it and pressed it gently against the side of her head. His eyes closed for a moment. If she’d been hit squarely instead of just grazed, she’d be dead.
“Hold this until the bleeding stops.” But it looked like the cut was shallower than it had first appeared, head wounds being notorious for bleeding. The trail of scarlet near her hairline was already drying. “I’d feel better if I could get you to a hospital, but I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”
“I’ve hit my head harder falling out of the trees my brother convinced me to climb. I’ll be okay.”
He tipped her face up and softly kissed her. Since he couldn’t find words for what he wanted to say, he looked away, back at the plane. He needed to make sure the fuel tanks hadn’t been ruptured when they ground-looped. If it looked safe, he needed to get their gear.
“What happened up there?” Jessie asked, some of the color back in her face.
He worked a muscle in his jaw. “Someone doctored the fuel. I don’t know what they added, maybe a pellet of some kind, something that didn’t dissolve right away. No way to check for something like that.”
She shivered. “They want to kill me that much?”
