Crash Landing. Becky Avella
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just a skinny city boy. Sean had three inches’ height on him and at least fifty more pounds of muscle. If they could disarm him somehow, Sean could take this guy.
Sean didn’t seek out chances to prove his masculinity like some men she knew, but Deanna had seen him win a fight before. A couple of drunk, loudmouthed bullies had targeted Sean at Roundup two years ago. He’d been forced to defend himself, which he’d done swiftly and surely. They’d never messed with him again.
Even staring down the barrel of a shotgun, Deanna felt safer having him next to her. Given the right opportunity and a fair fight, she was confident that Sean would win here, too. But even if they could take the shotgun out of the picture, this guy didn’t look like the type to fight fair. He seemed more of the street-fighter type. He’d probably make up for the difference in size by pulling a switchblade out of those baggy clothes.
Her eyes swept the area. They were trapped. The pilot and his gun blocked their direct path back to her plane, and there was no other escape route that she could see. If they turned and ran for the trees, he’d shoot them in the back. She wasn’t even sure if he was the only man out here.
Her elbows bent slightly, and her hands lowered a few centimeters. Could she do it? How fast could she get the gun out of her waistband?
“Hands up,” he commanded. She obeyed quickly, raising her arms as high as she could get them.
Her gaze passed over the wooden shed next to the other plane. A lot of cargo could fit in there. More cargo than one plane could hold?
“You’re the other pilot, right? Weren’t you expecting us?” It was a risk, but it felt right.
She looked at Sean and tried to send him an unspoken message to follow her lead. The confused expression on his face dissipated as he caught on to the game she was playing.
Sean cleared his throat. “Yeah. Didn’t anyone tell you we were coming?” His acting skills could use some work, but he’d joined her charade without missing a beat.
“Who are you?” the pilot demanded, the tip of his gun wavering. “Pritchard never said nothing about another plane.”
Deanna bit back the obvious question. Pritchard? She’d never heard the name before. Time to wing it again.
“Well, he told us—” she amped up the annoyance in her voice “—that there’d be too much cargo for one plane. That you would need our help.”
She flicked one of her raised hands in the direction of her Cessna. “We’re supposed to help you transport.”
The gun’s tip relaxed slightly. Was he buying it?
“You didn’t think we landed for a picnic, did you?” she said.
Deanna blinked rapidly. The sweat she couldn’t wipe away stung her eyes. She arranged her face into what she hoped was a confident expression. This guy couldn’t see fear on her face or he’d see right through her act.
Indecision danced across his features, but something else—something possessive and dark—dawned in his eyes, taking its place. His gaze traveled from Deanna’s head to her feet as if he were seeing her for the first time. Heat filled her cheeks. Every part of her begged her to run from this predator, but she couldn’t.
He stepped closer to Deanna, and a hissing sound escaped from Sean. Sean took a step forward. The guy waved the shotgun back at Sean’s face.
“Get back!”
Deanna wouldn’t want to be alone with a guy like this, but she needed to use the attraction to her advantage before Sean’s cowboy code of honor got them both shot.
She added sweetness to her voice. “While we wait, can we put our arms down? Please? They’re killing me.”
He shuffled his feet and lowered the gun another centimeter. “Yeah. Fine. Put them down, but don’t move until someone gets out here to tell me what’s going on.”
He locked eyes with Sean, his mouth lifting in a cocky half smile. “I’ve shot a man before. I’ll do it again if I need to.”
Deanna froze, believing him. His eyes were so cold. He looked like a killer, like he’d follow through on that promise without a moment of guilt. She lowered her arms slowly, the gun against her stomach calling to her. I’m here—use me.
There was nothing to make her care about this guy, but still, he was a human being with a beating heart. She’d prepared for scenarios like this—she’d bought the gun for self-defense—but facing a real flesh-and-blood threat made her second-guess herself. It made her imagine blood and death. Even if she could get the gun out, could she pull the trigger?
Her questions took too long. Suddenly the pilot spun her, shoved the shotgun’s tip between her shoulder blades and frisked her. He had her pistol in his hands before she could react to stop him.
“Hiding something?” he mocked, waving the gun in front of her face. Her fists clenched. He was too close, sharing too much of her air.
“Like you’d be out here unarmed,” she snapped.
Without the gun against her belly, she was small and vulnerable. And stupid. How could she have lost the gun? Her debt to Sean had just multiplied.
“You armed?” the pilot asked Sean.
“No.”
“Right,” the man sneered. “Just like she wasn’t.”
“I’m not armed,” Sean said.
“Show me,” he commanded. “And don’t try anything. She isn’t too pretty to shoot.”
Sean slowly lifted his T-shirt, revealing a tanned, muscular stomach but no gun. He repeated the process with his pant legs, lifting each side.
“Take off your boots.”
Sean obeyed, pulling off his boots and shaking them out. “I’m clean.”
“Turn out your pockets.” Sean threw down a cell phone and a knife Deanna hadn’t known he had.
The pilot kicked the knife and phone away. “Not armed, eh?”
Sean shrugged. He put his boots back on and stood back up tall, never breaking eye contact. Deanna’s cheeks still burned. She’d had a gun, but she’d lost their ticket out of here by being too slow to act. She met Sean’s eyes and mouthed the words I’m sorry.
The pilot pushed Deanna forward with the shotgun. “Walk to my plane.”
When they arrived at the red Piper Arrow, he raised the shotgun to the back of her head. Deanna could feel the cold metal touching her scalp through her hair. She closed her eyes and refused to imagine the gory details of what would happen to her if that gun fired now.
“Climb into the cockpit and grab the duct tape out of the glove compartment,” he directed Sean. The gun pushed harder against Deanna’s head, making her stagger forward a bit. “There’s two rolls. And don’t forget where I’ve got this gun pointed.”
Sean nodded and climbed in, quickly locating the tape. When he hopped back to the ground, the pilot shoved Deanna hard toward the shed. “Get up against the wall.”
“Hey!” Sean yelled, stepping toward Deanna. “Not so rough!”
“Yeah, about that. Sorry about this, dude,” he said and then swung the shotgun like a baseball bat, connecting with the side of Sean’s head. The thwack of solid wood against Sean’s skull made Deanna’s knees buckle.
“Sean!” she screamed. Reaching out, she caught his slumping body just in time. His weight knocked her to her knees, but she slowed his fall before he hit the ground.
The pilot’s hands shoved her from behind, and Sean rolled from her arms.
“On your stomach,” he ordered Deanna. “And stay there or you’re getting the same as he got.”
*