she closed her eyes. The ride became smooth for several seconds, then hit a corrugated patch that made the plane shake like a tambourine.
Oh, God, have mercy on us. You know I don’t swim well.
“You praying?”
“Of course I am.”
“Just checking. Another few minutes and we’re on the ground. Grab those life jackets under your seat just in case.”
Could one pass out from hyperventilation? She couldn’t remember ever being this frightened—even when the guy in the suit opened fire on her as she was leaving her room early this morning. She fished the life jackets out from under the seats and helped Owen into his. Fastening her own, she reminded herself how far the Lord had brought her. Her life was in His hands, and He could take it or give it back to her.
Your will be done, Lord.
She peeked out the window again at the jade-and-terra-cotta patchwork of coastal landscape below. Owen banked left and the plane stalled as they lost altitude.
“Hey, who knew Mexico had this many trees?” He tensed. “You might not want to look right now.”
“Owen! Look out!” Treetops zoomed at the plane.
“Relax.” Limbs and leaves scraped the belly of the plane. “You’re in the hands of a—”
She screamed as the landing gear came down with a fwump, snicking off the tops of a row of cypress trees. The right wingtip whacked into the trunk of a palm tree. Her stomach was somewhere around her eyebrows. The plane wobbled and skated clear of the trees, the wheels jouncing across somebody’s cow pasture. Another couple of wild bounces and they were taxiing.
Owen applied the brakes, his muscles bulging with the strain of holding the plane steady on the rocky field. Benny watched his face, mesmerized by the fierce concentration in his narrowed eyes, flared nostrils and tight lips. Then she glanced out the windshield.
They were headed straight for a barn.
TWO
Raymond Briggs tossed his navy suit coat across a chair and pushed the rifle case under the outdoor cantina table. Scowling at the pretty young waitress waiting to take his order, he yanked out another chair and dropped into it. Drowning his frustration in a shot of tequila would have redeemed some of this miserable day. Unfortunately, one did not order alcohol at ten o’clock in the morning in a conservative city like Villahermosa.
“Agua embotellada, por favor,” he growled.
The little waitress scurried inside.
Slouching, Briggs unclipped the cell phone from his belt and stared at it. He’d rather face a mountain lion than have to tell his boss he’d let Bernadette Malone slip through his fingers.
How could he have missed that shot? At least once a week, he’d spend a few hours at a practice range so he wouldn’t choke under pressure.
He was a professional. Hidden in the thick vegetation on the outskirts of the camp, he’d waited patiently for a chance to catch the missionary alone. With his binoculars trained on her cabin, he’d seen her and another young woman walk toward a long Quonset-like building, which he assumed to be the cafeteria. Thirty minutes later, she’d returned alone and he’d had his chance. He should have been out of there, his mark dead and no one the wiser; he’d had a silencer on the rifle and he was a genius at disappearing.
But the sting of a mosquito had made him twitch, sending the bullet into the cabin wall. Startled, the woman stood there for a split second. Then, just as he reloaded the chamber, she’d darted toward the old Jeep parked by the door.
Ray kicked the gun case at his feet. How was he going to explain the behavior of this crazy young woman? Why would she drive away from the other individuals in the camp? Dumbfounded, he’d knelt for precious seconds with the rifle held to his shoulder as the Jeep sped toward the main road. Arrogantly sure of his aim, he hadn’t bothered to sabotage her vehicle.
The waitress returned with his bottled water and Ray gave her a few pesos, silently cursing himself, cursing the woman, cursing the humidity that made his shirt stick to his back. By now, he should have been in Cancún enjoying a short vacation before returning to the southwest Tennessee heat.
Thumb on speed dial, he hesitated before dialing the number. The judge was going to go ballistic.
He lined up defenses in his mind like toy soldiers. How could he have known there was a plane sitting on the beach less than five miles away, with a pilot getting ready to take off? Assumptions, as it turned out, had been the source of his every mistake.
Mistakes for which he was going to pay a major price.
His hand clenched around the phone, his thumb pressing the dial button. “Hey, boss.” What a relief to get voice mail instead of the powerful pit bull who could put a knot in his stomach with nothing more than silence. “It’s me, Briggs. I, uh, I got bad news. The girl got away. I’m not sure how much she knows, but I’m going after her. My plane leaves in an hour. Cell reception’s kinda spotty down here, so you may not be able to get me right away. I’ll call you when I hit the States. Don’t worry. She’s as good as dead.”
Owen reviewed his options, both of which called for what his mother referred to as bowling language.
He could turn the plane and mow down a couple of cows.
Or he could crash into the barn. The Cessna was sturdy but not indestructible. Mission Aviation Fellowship functioned largely on donations, and it killed Owen to think about how much repairs would cost.
So he’d just have to stop it.
Ramming his feet down on the brake pedals, feeling the aircraft shudder, he held on to the control column for dear life. The crooked, gaping boards of the barn loomed, closer and closer, until he could almost smell the manure and hay.
He braced himself for impact. Benny had thrown her hands over her face, but at least she had stopped screaming.
God, I need help! Come on, come on, please help me stop this plane.
The plane skidded for another heart-stopping second or two. They rammed into the barn, with the nose of the plane tucked into the open front door. An odd noise crunched in the right wing as it came to rest against the outside wall.
Trembling, Owen stared into the dark recesses of the barn. “Wow. That was close.” A couple of chickens squawked.
“We’re not dead, are we?” Benny lowered her hands.
“I don’t think so. If this is Heaven, I’ve got issues with the management.” He took off his headphones. “Are you okay?”
“Um, yeah.” She unfastened her seat belt and took off the life jacket. “Good thing we didn’t need these.”
Owen grinned. “Remember when we took the de Cristos kids swimming last summer?” Benny had gotten too far away from shore and couldn’t dog-paddle back; then when he went after her, she’d nearly drowned him. For such an accomplished lady, Bernadette was a terrible swimmer.
Who also looked great
