The small plane hit hard, bounced several times, and skidded back and forth before lurching to a drunken halt to the right of the so-called runway.
The plane shuddered and the engine silenced, the machine looking miniature against the wild mountains that served as a backdrop. Her stomach lurched. She wanted to take another Valium, but she had to at least appear professional to these nomads who chose to live in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
The pilot jumped out, and she stopped breathing at her first sight of him. Wavy black hair framed a hard-cut face, scruff covered his rugged jaw, and aviator glasses shielded his eyes. His ancestry was difficult to gauge, but his features were native and strong. Possibly some Inuit or Indigenous American heritage. He had to be well over six feet tall, muscled and oddly graceful, even with a slight limp.
She zeroed in on his left leg. He favored it slightly but didn’t allow it to shorten his stride.
Interesting.
He wore a heavy leather jacket, jeans, and dark boots, his shielded gaze at her having a punch of power, even through the dingy window.
She swallowed, grateful that sunglasses hid her eyes, which had to be wide and full of doubt after witnessing that excruciating landing on the ice. The man approaching her wasn’t anything close to the old, grizzly, and bearded pilot who’d brought her from Anchorage, the one who had said—repeatedly—that she was nuts to keep going west with a late but devastating winter coming. She’d imagined someone similar picking her up today.
This guy was beyond imagination.
He pulled open the door and paused, instant heat rippling from him. “Special Agent Spilazi?” That voice. A slow, deep roll that contrasted with the stark beauty around them.
“Call me Ophelia.” She held out a hand, still feeling off-balance. She was tall for a woman, very, but he towered over her.
His dark eyebrows rose, and he shook with her after a brief pause that almost went on too long. His hand was warm, big, and gentle, the shake to the point. “Your title suits you better.”
Electricity zipped along her wrist from the contact. It took her a moment to digest his comment and then hide her surprise, again glad she wore the sunglasses to protect her eyes and expression. Nobody in DC would’ve been so forward upon meeting her.
“You don’t know me,” she countered.
His grunt was neither assent nor denial. He released her and grabbed the two overlarge suitcases, hefting them easily, turning back toward the waiting plane.
Her mouth opened and closed. She scrambled to follow him into the frigid air. “Do you need me to take one of those?” Both had been over the weight limit on her commercial flights and a pain to lug through the Anchorage airport.
“No.” His stride didn’t shorten.
Well, all right. If he wanted to put out his back, it was fine by her. Although, he didn’t seem to be struggling much. In the slightest. The guy looked to be in great shape, no doubt about it. He opened the plane’s cargo door and roughly plunked the suitcases inside, partially turning. “Backpack here or up with you?”
She’d forgotten her pack and couldn’t help the sigh that escaped when she shrugged it off to hand over. The meager case files she held had been heavier than expected after a long trek. While she didn’t like having her gun out of reach, she wouldn’t need it in the air. Shooting her pilot would be a disaster. “Back here is fine.”
He secured the pack with the luggage and gestured around the other side of the plane.
She faltered and then preceded him, carefully picking her way across the ice in her new boots. Once on the other side, she waited for him to open the door to the co-pilot’s seat. Her knees trembled.
Only one eyebrow went up this time. “Afraid to fly?” He leaned against the side of the craft, his stance casual in the freezing cold as if he had all day for a conversation.
The guy didn’t like complete sentences, did he? She nodded. Before he could launch into the usual lecture, she held up a hand. “I understand flying is safer than driving, and there are all sorts of measures to keep airplanes accident-free. I also know you could land this on any flat surface and get us to safety.” None of that mattered when anxiety rose.
“Honey, I could barely land this thing here with plenty of room. If anything goes wrong, we’re dead.” He pushed the sunglasses up on his head, revealing eyes greener than the sharpest emerald.
A vise gripped her throat, an invisible one, and she breathed deeply to calm herself. “You’re not a pilot?”
He lifted one powerful shoulder in a tough-guy shrug. “Not really.”
Her spine straightened on its own. “You don’t have a pilot’s license?”
His flash of a grin was as charming as it was unexpected. “Nope.”
Her shoulders snapped back. If he said one more word, her body would be at full attention whether she liked it or not. “Then what the hell are you doing flying that thing?”
“We got notice in Knife’s Edge that you were out here. Somebody had to come get you. I was the only one sober enough.” He rubbed the scruff across his angled jaw.
“Sober enough?” She backed a step away. The sparkle in his green eyes caught her. Was he messing with her?
