Tailspin(7)

The flashlight was dropped and landed on the ground a few feet away from where they tussled. White reached for it, but Rye wrapped his arms tight around the torso beneath his, pinning the guy’s arms to his sides and rendering his legs useless by straddling them and practically sitting on his butt.

“What’s the matter, jerk-off? Did you expect to find my bloody corpse in the pilot’s seat? Well, surprise.”

He flipped him over, grabbed a flailing wrist in each of his hands, even as his right maintained a grip on the nine-millimeter. He forced the guy’s arms out to his sides and flattened the backs of them against the rocky ground.

As angry as he’d ever been in his life, he growled, “I want to know just what the fuck—”

He broke off when he realized that the eyes glowering up at him were set in a soft, smooth face framed by a tumble of dark, wavy hair. He said, “Who the hell are you?”

“Your client.”

Rye recoiled in shock and looked down at the chest inches from his face, which was rising and falling with agitation…and was also indisputably female. “Dr. Lambert? I expected a man.”

“Well, surprise.”

Then she kneed him in the balls.





Chapter 3

2:01 a.m.



Damn!” She’d missed. He had sucked in a sharp breath in anticipation and shifted his hips just enough to prevent a direct hit. Teeth clenched, she said, “Get off me.”

He didn’t. Instead, he secured her legs by pressing them more tightly between his. “You’re supposed to be at the FBO. What are you doing out here?”

“Do you have the box? Why do you have a gun?”

“I asked first.”

Their eyes engaged in a contest of wills, but he was angry, large, strong, and on top of her, all of which gave him the advantage. “Because of the fog, I missed the turnoff. The road came to a dead end at a cyclone fence. I was about to turn around when your plane swooped in from out of nowhere.”

“Oh. You belong to the headlights. I flew toward them.”

“Toward them?”

“So I could land on the road.”

“But you didn’t. You crashed.”

“Wasn’t my fault.”

“No?” The instant the word was out, she realized how snotty her tone had sounded, and it made him mad.

“No, doctor. The fact is, I kept the craft from falling out of the fucking sky, which it would have done if I weren’t such a fucking good pilot. It took a hell of an effort to avoid taking your head off. You should be thanking me.”

“Gratitude isn’t exactly what I’m feeling for you right now. Was the box damaged? What caused you to crash?”

“Someone—” He stopped, rethought what he had intended to say, then said a terse “Power outage.”

“On your plane?”

“The instruments blinked. These kinds of conditions, being able to see your instruments can mean the difference between living and dying. I managed to pull it off.” He continued to stare down at her with mistrust. She forced herself to hold his stare without shrinking, although he looked unscrupulous, and kept her mindful of the gun in his right hand.

“How long are you going to keep me pinned down?” she said. “You’re hurting my hands, and there’s a rock planted in my left kidney.”

He didn’t react immediately, but then he must have decided that the standoff was pointless. He released her wrists, moved off her, and stood. He picked up the flashlight she’d dropped and shone it directly into her face, staying on it until she asked him with curt politeness to get it out of her eyes. He kept the flashlight on, but angled it away from her. It provided ambient light.

She sat up, rubbing the gouge on her back. “What’s your name?”

“Rye Mallett.”

“Mr. Mallett,” she said in a murmur as she started to stand. He cupped her elbow to give her a boost. As soon as she was on her feet, she pulled her arm free and began brushing the dirt and twigs off the backs of her hands. They were nicked and scratched. One had a smear of blood on it. She shot him an accusing look.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you were a guy.”

“It would have been nice if you’d made that distinction before coming after me. Armed. Was the gun really necessary?”

“Wasn’t, but might’ve been.”

“Do all pilots carry guns these days?”

“What other pilots do isn’t any of my business.”

She looked over at the plane. The damage appeared to be considerable. He’d been fortunate to walk away from the crash, much less have enough strength to overpower her and keep her pinned down. “You don’t seem to have been injured, Mr. Mallett. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” With that settled, she asked, “What about the box?”

“Do you know Brady White?”

“The man who manages the airfield? I talked to him on the phone tonight. He agreed to be here when you landed, although I don’t think he believed that anyone would actually fly in tonight. He said—” She broke off when a thought occurred to her. “He did show up, didn’t he? He turned the lights on?”