Merry and Bright(68)

Gun?

“Keep flying,” said a ragged voice. “Just keep flying.”

Holy shit. Noah craned his neck. The soft, fuzzy blanket he kept on the backseat was on the floor now. She’d been hiding beneath it, and yeah, the person behind him was most definitely a she. Once upon a time, he’d been considered an expert on the species, and despite her gruff, uneven tones, her voice shimmered with nerves.

Female nerves.

Unbelievably, he’d just been hijacked by a nervous woman with a gun. He tried to get a good look at her, but the gun shifted to his jaw, shoving his head forward before he could take in more than a big, bulky sweater with a hood down low over her face—

“Don’t turn around,” she demanded. “Just keep us in the air.”

He could. He’d been a pilot ever since the day he’d been old enough, flying on a daily basis, either for a job or on a whim, into a storm or with one on his ass, without much thought.

He was giving it plenty of thought now. “Hell, no.” His fingers tightened on the yoke. Goddamnit. “What the f*ck is this?”

“You’re flying me to Mammoth Mountain.”

“Hell, no, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You have no choice.” Then she let out a disparaging, desperate sound and softened her voice. “Look, just get us there, okay? Get us there and everything will be all right.”

Yeah, except that she didn’t sound as if she believed that line of crap, and he sure as hell didn’t believe it either. Worse, he suddenly had a nasty flashback to another of his flights that had gone bad, six months ago. Only in that one, there’d been no gun, just a hell of a storm in Baja, California, where he’d hit a surprise thunderstorm, one with a vicious kick. That time he’d ended up on a side of a mountain in a fiery crash, holding his passenger as she died in his arms....

So really, in comparison, this flight, with a measly gun at his back, should be a piece of cake. Just a day in the life.

Knowing it, he swiped a forearm over his forehead and concentrated on breathing. Maybe she was all talk, no show. Maybe she didn’t really know how to use the weapon. Maybe he could talk her out of the insanity that had become his life today. “How did you get in here?”

The gun remained against his shoulder, but not as hard, as if maybe she didn’t want to hurt him. “No questions, or I’ll—”

“What? Shoot?”

She didn’t answer.

Yeah, all talk, no show, he decided, and reached over to switch his radio on, then went very still at the feel of the muzzle just beneath his jaw now.

“Don’t,” she said, sounding more desperate, if that was even possible. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

Hell if he’d suffer this quietly, and he braced himself for action, but then she added a low, softly uttered, “Please.”

Jesus, he felt like such a fool. Who the hell was she? She’d been careful to stay just behind him, just out of range of his peripheral. He could smell her, though, some complicated mixture of exotic flowers and woman, which under very different circumstances he’d find sexy as hell.

But not today, the day that was quickly turning into a living nightmare. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Not when he was getting back on the horse. Wasn’t that what Shayne and Brody had told him to do, get back on the horse.

And he had.

Was.

Hence the ski/f*ck-his-brains-out weekend.

What the hell was in Mammoth that was worth hijacking someone? And why was she so desperate to get there? Instinct had him checking the gauges, looking for a place to land.

“No.” The gun was an emphasis, back to pressing hard between his shoulder blades. “We’re going to Mammoth. Just like you planned.”

“I didn’t plan for this.”

“You have a passenger now, that’s all. Everything else is the same.”

Yeah, he had a passenger. A shaking, unnerved, freaked-out desperate one.

Give him a thunderstorm in Cabo any day over this....





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She’d promised herself she’d do this. No running, no avoiding, just face it head-on and get it done. But as Dani Peterson bent for her broken-off heel, she felt her resolve slip.

Running like hell would have been so much easier.

Damn it.

All she’d asked of herself was to get through this with a shred of dignity, but that would be a little tough now, wouldn’t it, while minus a heel.

Ah, well. Her family already believed her a little off, why not just go ahead and prove it by looking the part.

But then came the voice.

The low, husky male voice asking, “Are you okay?”

She sighed as she eyed her offending heel. “That depends.”

“On?”

On whether or not she could find room in her budget to replace the shoes. “Nothing. I’m fine. Thanks.” Blowing a strand of hair from her mouth, she glanced over just as he crouched at her side.

And felt the most ridiculous schoolgirl urge to blush and stammer. Because wow.

Seriously wow.

He smiled at her. And although everything about him—his confidence, his clothes, his ease—all projected old money and class—not to mention a sophistication she couldn’t have faked on her best day—he wasn’t GQ perfect.