Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(77)

“Hang on!” Mal hollered, and Chessie did, clutching her seat and squeezing as they soared over some unexpectedly high trees.

She glanced over her shoulder to look at him, but her hair whipped over her face. She couldn’t see far anyway, since she’d taken off her glasses for the ride. When she pushed it away, she caught sight of him concentrating on the dials and sticks, his whole being into the job of flying.

Don’t fall for him, Chessie. You’d never have a normal life.

Gabe’s warning howled in her head, louder than the wind.

Who wanted a normal life when you could have a life of adventure and fun with Malcolm Harris? But couldn’t a girl have other fantasies? Less sweet and innocent and more hot and wild? What if she were willing to give up those girlhood dreams and…follow him? Stay with him? Fall in love with him?

The plane dipped low and sharp, stealing her breath and sending her stomach on the same ride.

“Sorry,” he said. “My bad.”

Not really. He didn’t have a bad bone in his body. Certainly not his heart, which was in the right place, or they wouldn’t be in this plane, but…the spies, the danger, the looking over his shoulder?

“Hang in there, Francesca.”

“I’m trying,” she said dryly.

“I promise we won’t crash and burn.”

Really? Could he promise that? Because her heart was flipping around in her chest like this crappy little plane.

“It’s not far now.”

She lifted her head and peered into the darkness. “How can you tell?”

“Instinct. Just listening to my gut.”

She turned again to throw her next question into the wind. “What’s your gut tell you about me?”

“That you are the best…” He hesitated and the plane dipped. She filled in the blank during the silence. The best partner? The best lover? The best thing that ever happened to him? The best –

“Not good. Fuck, this is not good.”

She squinted at the fuel dial, the needle hovering over empty.

“It does that,” she said. “It’ll jump back.”

“It’s not jumping back, Chessie. Damn it.” He worked the stick and the throttle, backing off the acceleration, probably to save fuel. “I can see the lights of El Sal, maybe five or six miles away. We’re close enough to put her down soon,” he said. “I’ll find an open field. Hopefully before we run out of fuel.”

Hopefully.

This from the man who didn’t believe in hope. But she trusted him. She had to right now.

“Landing, Chessie,” he yelled. “Hang on.”

She turned to face the front and slammed her hands on the leather panel in front of her as the plane dipped and dove, tilting from one side to another. She hated this. It was wild and scary and out of control. She hated it.


And when she entertained stupid, crazy thoughts about life with a guy who was just like that, she had to remember how much she—

The nose of the plane tilted straight down, making her cry out in terror.

She heard him swear again. “I got it.” But it didn’t feel like he had it. He pulled back on the stick, and the plane straightened out, but they were definitely headed down. Fast. Really damn fast.

“Whoa!” she cried out, balling her fists and pressing them to her cheeks. “Mal!”

But he didn’t answer, battling the plane and the low winds that buffeted them up and down and to both sides. The treetops were close—way too close—but he shoved the throttle all the way forward, and the engine sputtered and choked, then the whine of the propeller changed pitch, as if it were slowing down.

She opened her eyes, squinting into the wind to see where they were headed. The tree line. They had to get over that tree line and pray there was a field beyond it.

If not…

The engine sounds deepened and slowed, and the plane dropped a little more. They were not going to make it. They were going to hit the trees and flip this plane and crash and burn.

“No, Mal, no! We’re not going to make it!”

“Oh yes we are.” She could hear him battle the stick, yanking it from side to side, fighting the tilt of the plane as he tried to work the dying machine over the trees.

They weren’t going to make it. They were going down fast. Chessie closed her eyes and tried to say her mental good-byes, working to conjure up images of her parents, her brothers and sister, Nino and…

Mal.

Behind her, he swore mightily, losing the fight to gravity as the propeller snapped the top of the trees.

It was him she’d miss. The chance with him. The possibility of him. Damn it, she’d just found him, and now they were—

“Got it, you son of a bitch!” He glided over the last of the tree line, powered by wind and momentum and…hope.

The ground rushed toward them, the shadows of the field below flying by, coming up, meeting them…with a thud and bump. Her teeth cracked together, and her bones felt like they’d slammed into each other. They rocked and tipped and bounced over the ground and finally came to a stop.

Chessie didn’t let out the breath she’d been holding until Mal grabbed her shoulders and turned her around.

“Hell, yeah, Francesca. We made it.”

She shuddered out a sigh and reached for his face, closing her hands on his cheeks as relief and affection and joy ricocheted through her body with the same force as the landing.