“Areyousure about this?” he counters. “Because you’re going to a lot of trouble for this asshole.”
“I’m sure.” I keep it vague. “We have unfinished business.”
“Well, you owe me,” is all he says, his gaze fixed on the darkness ahead.
I’m not one to get nervous when it comes to risky missions, but I feel like we’re flying into the center of an abyss. I have zero spatial awareness, not a single point to focus on that could orient me as to where we are. Hell, I barely understand the aircraft we’re in.
Back at the hangar, Gray referred to it as the “hybrid,” because the design is a blend of fighter jet and attack helicopter. He explained that the aerodynamic frame combined with the semi-swept wings optimizes its performance at both high and low speeds, making it capable of superior air supportanda precise ground attack. Then he went on about hover mode and vertical thrust vectoring and the most complicated-sounding weapons system ever, and I promptly tuned out.
Turns out Grayson Blake has a real hard-on for aviation.
I search the darkness, trying to better orient myself, once again to no avail.
“Seriously, what do we have against lights?” I ask, fidgeting in the copilot’s seat.
“Airspace is being monitored,” he says. “We can’t risk being spotted by a Company aircraft. The lack of lights is the least of our concerns—just pray our radar jam holds up until we land.”
“We’re landing without lights?” I squawk in dismay. “No beacons? How will you see the runway?”
“Relax, cowgirl. I’ve done this hundreds of times before.”
“In the dark?”
“Yes.”
“Without lights?”
“That’s what ‘in the dark’ means.”
“Stop laughing at me.”
“Can’t help it. You’re not usually such a chickenshit.”
It bothers me how calm he is. The cockpit has minimal lights, only a select few dials illuminated, and every time I catch a glimpse of his expression, it’s gleaming with confidence. He flicks a switch and another one of those dials goes dark.
“How are you not fazed by this? You don’t care that you can’t see?”
He seems amused by the note of panic we both hear in my voice. “I’m unfazed because it’s second nature to me, and I don’t need my eyes when I have my senses and my instruments to guide me. I trust my instincts, my plane. She’ll tell me everything I need to know.”
“ ‘She’? Oh God, you’re nuts.”
He chuckles, and the plane dips a little when he shifts the yoke. His every movement is controlled and deliberate. No hesitation at all. I suddenly hear a mechanical grind and realize he’s releasing the landing gear.
“Where did you learn to fly?”
“My dad,” he says, keeping his gaze straight ahead. His voice is devoid of emotion, but I can’t tell if that means something. “He was a pilot. Took me flying with him when I was younger, and I became addicted to it.”
The darkness seems to press in on us, heightening that sense of isolation. Like we’re floating aimlessly in the sky.
“Relax.” He adjusts the throttle, and the plane descends farther.
I can’t see the ground. I can’t see a thing. I don’t know if we’re ten feet off the ground or thousands. But Gray isn’t at all nervous. He licks the corner of his mouth and shifts the controls again.
“There you go, baby.”
For a second I think he’s talking to me, but his tone is almost reverent, and his gaze is wholly focused on his plane.
“Almost there,” he mutters under his breath.
