branches crashing against them, toppling over beneath them. He barely had time to cover his own face with his arms after they cleared the rest of the trees and headed straight into the river.
Marisa screamed.
Water splashed up and over the nose of the plane.
Eerie moans filled the air and metal screamed as its momentum was abruptly stopped.
Marisa and Tyler, strapped in their safety harnesses, bounced around like rag dolls in the grip of a rambunctious, cartwheeling child.
Cargo broke free, tumbling, bouncing, breaking.
Then all motion ceased, jerked to a cruel, bone-bruising stop as the plane settled, tilting crazily against some immovable force.
Dazed, Tyler gingerly shook his head. He realized water was lapping higher and higher against the side of the plane. He ripped off his harness and leaned toward Marisa, gently tipping back her limp head. She’d struck something when they’d hit. Her forehead was bleeding. But she was breathing. And when he said her name, her mouth moved in reply.
Then her eyes opened slowly and stared, glassy, at him. “You’re bleeding,” she murmured.
Later, he might wonder over the relief he felt. But for now he didn’t have time. “So are you,” he said, and pushed himself painfully out of the cockpit. “We’ve gotta get out of here before the plane floods.” He kicked her briefcase out of the way as he made his way to the passenger door. It was buckled, and no amount of muscle would get it open.
He headed through the mess of supplies for the cargo door toward the rear of the plane. That opened, but it also let in a wave of cold water. He swore. “Marisa!”
Marisa had stumbled out of the cockpit behind him. “Tell me what to do.” She still looked unsteady.
“Get that duffel there. The black one. Grab anything you can carry from the box underneath it.”
He stepped into the swirling water, and rapidly inflated the Zodiac. They’d hit a sandbar. It was both a blessing and a curse, because, though it gave them a bit of dry ground to work with, it had also torn off the right wing of his plane.
Marisa, arms full, followed him, and he helped her from the plane, onto the bar, holding the cargo high, out of the water. “Stay there.”
She nodded, looking ill. He wasn’t surprised when her legs gave out, and he caught her before she fell back into the swirling river. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her hand pressed to her forehead. “I’m so dizzy.”
He grabbed the duffel and stuffed it behind her. “Lean against that. And don’t let go. Can you swim?”
Marisa nodded weakly and sincerely hoped she wouldn’t be called upon to actually do so. Every movement made her head swim. She curled her fingers into the black canvas of the bag with a death grip and drew her legs up the sandy surface, out of the water.
They’d crashed.
But they weren’t dead.
She closed her eyes, aware of Tyler’s rapid movements as he went back and forth between the boat he’d inflated and the plane.
Then he was talking to her, telling her to get in the small boat. She moved, feeling clumsy, and he ended up just lifting her over the side, tossing the duffel in after her.
She was shivering. The air felt colder than it ought to have for February. If she could just get warm…
Her fingers closed on the duffel and she fumbled for the zipper. He probably had clothes inside—
“What the hell are you doing?” He jerked the bag out of her hands and she’d have pitched forward onto her nose if he hadn’t planted a hard hand on her shoulder first. “Stay out of there.” He shoved the duffel as far away from her as it could go. Which wasn’t far.
She didn’t want to cry. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. “I’m cold.”
“You’re soaking wet. We both are. That, plus a little shock.” He shook his head and pulled a thin, silvery film from a small package. With a flick, he opened it out like a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then he tilted her head back and looked at her forehead. “I’ll get that cut taken care of in a minute,” he said.
And Marisa’s eyes flooded simply because his voice had been so gentle.
She was glad when he rolled out of the boat and headed back to the plane. She ducked her head and wiped her eyes. The nausea was subsiding. By the time he returned to the boat, she was sitting up, more or less steadily. He pushed the boat off the bar, walking alongside it until he was practically swimming. Then, with a slick motion, he slid over the side and flipped a small outboard into place. A moment later the motor was running with a reassuring sound.
But he didn’t head up the river as she expected. Instead, after several yards, he let off on the throttle, leaving them to drift with the current. He was looking back at the crash, holding something in his hand. “Cover your ears.”
Unthinkingly Marisa did as he bade. And then nearly jumped out of her skin at the short, sharp crack that blasted through the air when he pointed the small device and pressed a button.
She looked back. The front of the plane was engulfed in flames.
The front of the plane where the radio and all that wonderful, high-tech equipment was. She whirled on him. “How could you do that? What if they can’t find us?”
“Who?”
Her teeth chattered with chills. “Whoever is g-going to rescue us!”
He’d opened the throttle of the outboard, and now they were moving fast down the river. “We are the ones doing the rescue. This is just a temporary hitch in the plans.”
Marisa looked up at the afternoon sky. It seemed like hours had passed since the moment the plane had begun its tumble from the sky. But her logic told her it couldn’t have been long at all. “I still don’t see why you had to completely destroy the plane.”
“Would you prefer the shooter to know that we got out alive? Or would you prefer him to find completely burned wreckage?”
She felt dread slice through her. How silly of her not to realize the person who’d shot at the plane might not be finished with them. “Why does El Jefe hate this Westin so badly?”
“Don’t you know?”
She raked back the pieces of hair that had come loose from her chignon. “What do I have to do to convince you that I am not in league with El Jefe!” She realized she was yelling, and closed her mouth with a snap.
“I’ll let you know.”
She shook her head, wincing at the pain in her face. At least her swimming head had cleared. And being wrapped like a hot dog in tin foil had done the trick of settling her chills. “You’d have been right in style with the witch trials,” she told him.
For some reason, he found that amusing. His lip curled in an entirely unexpected and terribly brief grin.
Marisa
