He kissed her, a quick brush of his lips against hers. His lips were cold—and firm and possessive. It was a measure of her terror that she didn’t even respond.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got this,” he said as his hands dropped away from her face and he patted the strut again. The look he gave her was compelling. “Gina. Climb in.”
Mute with fear, she looked from his face to the big gloved hand resting on the fragile-looking strut to the darkness waiting for her beyond the open door.
Then she steeled herself and climbed in.
The interior smelled old and musty. The narrow cylinder was cramped enough that she had to bend her head as she made her way toward the nose. If there had once been passenger seats, they’d been removed in favor of making cargo space: only the pilot and copilot seats remained. There were dog crates and other items in the back: it seemed pretty certain that the tracking dogs and their handlers had arrived on this plane. She didn’t really look at anything else, because she didn’t care.
She was too busy keeping it together, keeping a lid on the panic that washed over her in waves. It was bad. Her nerves felt as if they were jumping beneath her skin, her stomach had turned inside out, and her chest was so tight that it required effort to breathe.
Cal was behind her. She concentrated on him and tried not to think about the fact that she was inside a plane. That she would soon be flying in said plane.
The cockpit was so small that she had no other option but to sit down in the copilot’s seat to make room for Cal to enter. Memories crowded into her mind. She forced them back, mentally slamming the door in their face. Instead of looking at the windshield curving so close in front of her, she pulled off her gloves, pushed back her hood, and looked at Cal. He had the rifles under his arm and was carrying the flashlight, she saw as he tucked the rifles away on the floor behind the pilot’s seat. He switched the flashlight on, shielding the beam with his fingers as he played it over the instrument panel: old wood, a dozen or more round, glass-fronted dials, twin yokes. Her gaze steadfastly followed the light’s path.
“Don’t you need a key?” she asked faintly as the light zeroed in on the ignition.
“No. Hold this steady for me, would you?” He passed her the flashlight.
She took it, restricted the beam with her fingers so that it focused only on the ignition, and refused to let her hands shake. Instead she watched Cal work. He’d stripped off his gloves and his long fingers moved dexterously, despite how cold she knew they had to be, as he inserted what looked like a straightened paper clip into the ignition, following it with the blade of his knife.
“You know how to hot-wire a plane?” she asked.
He was manipulating the blade and the wire simultaneously. “A basic skill learned in Air Commando 101.”
“Seriously?”
“Sometimes stealing a plane is the best way to move across hostile territory anonymously. They can’t track you if they don’t know it’s you.”
Without warning the engine roared to life.
The sound was so unexpected that Gina jumped. The flashlight wavered, but Cal didn’t need its light anymore: he’d already withdrawn his improvised tools from the ignition.
“Won’t they hear?” she asked in alarm as he took the flashlight from her and switched it off before folding himself into the pilot’s seat. He had, she saw, pushed back his own hood and pulled off his cap. His black hair was ruffled. His hard, handsome face was taut with concentration as he checked the dials. Her seat vibrated with the force of the engine’s gyrations. Beyond the windshield, she tried not to see the propeller coming to life, rotating with increasing speed until it was no more than a blur.
Clenching her teeth against the emotional meltdown she could feel hovering, she focused on remaining very, very calm.
“They might. I’m hoping that it’s noisy enough out there to block the sound.” He frowned, tapped on a dial with a forefinger, then glanced at her before reaching past her to undo the latch on the small, triangular window beside her. “Get the gun out.”
His businesslike tone was calming. So was having something physical to do. She looked a question at him as she complied. “Why?”
“I’m going to be busy flying this thing. If we run into trouble, you may have to provide cover fire.”
Fear twisted around Gina’s heart.
“If they start shooting at us, you mean.” Her voice sounded hollow. Big surprise, she felt hollow. Like there was a huge empty space where her stomach used to be. But at least she wasn’t quite so worried about being rendered catatonic by memories. A jolt of stark terror, she discovered, was a potent antidote to losing it.
“I’m hoping they won’t. I’m hoping we can just roll on out of here and sail off into the sky.” Reaching across her, he grabbed her seat belt and fastened it for her. Then he kissed the corner of her mouth. Firm, cool lips, the scratch of beard. “You’re doing great. We’re going to get out of here in one piece, I promise.”