“My practice is fine, thank you.”
Frowning, he turned back to her. “Excuse me for asking, but before I sink a wad into a plane like this, I need to know the real reason you want to sell.”
“I told you the real reason.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get so hot. Save it for something worthwhile.”
It was his type that she hated she finally realized, and this guy fit every macho stereotype she could think of. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Sometimes.” Grinning, he checked the engine sump and the oil, and Lynda watched, shaking her head at his arrogance.
The attitude, she thought. Her attitude was coming back again, filling her with bitterness, and somehow she had to fight it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to change the subject. “How long have you been flying?”
“About twenty years,” he said. “Right now I fly a 747 for TSA Airlines.”
Lynda raised her eyebrows. “Then why would you want your own plane? I’d think you’d be tired of flying when you aren't working.”
Jake went to the propellers and ran his hands along the blades. “Flying for work and flying for pleasure are two different things. There’s nothing like leaving the world behind and being up there all alone without anybody telling you where to go.”
Lynda looked up at the sky and realized that, finally, they had found common ground. “It’s a sanctuary,” she said quietly. “If my church could blueprint that feeling, they’d pack the pews every Sunday.”
He looked around the prop, eyeing her narrowly. “Oh, no. You’re not one of those, are you?”
“Those what?”
“Those flower-selling, tract-passing, baloney-flinging religion junkies.”
She couldn’t decide whether to be offended or not. “Do you mean Christians?”
“Whatever they call themselves,” he said, turning back to the plane. “I attract them, you know. They flock to me in airports like I’m wearing a sign that says, ‘Try me. I’ll believe anything.’”
“I’ve never sold flowers or passed out tracts or flung baloney, and you certainly don’t attract me. At the moment, the only thing I’m trying to sell you is my plane.”
Chuckling slightly, he touched the name painted on the side. “I like what you named it. Solitude. It fits me. I think I’ll keep the name.”
“You haven’t even decided to buy it yet.”
“No, but I’m really interested. It’s the best I’ve found for the money.”
“You’d better fly it first. It’s a big step down from a 747 to a single engine.”
“No kidding.”
“You might not like it.”
His grin returned. “You’re trying to talk me out of it, aren’t you?”
“No, of course not.”
He stepped up onto the wing, opened the door, and turned back to her. “Come on, get in. Let’s see what she can do.”
Reluctantly Lynda followed him up and slipped into the seat next to him. She attributed the feeling of dread taking hold of her heart to her despair that she might have to surrender the plane today.
CHAPTER TWO
* * *
Am I making you nervous?” Jake glanced at her as he pitched the plane downward then pulled back up, like a Thunderbird performing for his fans.
“I always get nervous when my life is in the hands of a psychopath.” Gripping the edge of her gray vinyl seat, she closed her eyes as he dove again. “You know, you won’t get a good feel for the ride if you keep showboating.”
He laughed and brought it back up. “I’d forgotten how much lighter this feels. I love the hands-on quality instead of everything being so automatic. The pilot is in complete control.”
“I knew you were one of those control types.”
He laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re not. You wouldn’t own a plane like this if you didn’t like being in control.”
She looked out the window and saw the airport growing smaller below them. “I don’t fly for control,” she said quietly.
“Then why do you?”
“Because unless I’m in the company of an aspiring stunt pilot who asks a lot of questions, I can think up here. Reflect.”
“So how long have you been hiding up here in your Piper?”
She shot him a look. “I’ve had the plane for two years if that’s what you mean. The best two years of my life.”
He chuckled. “You almost sound like you’re talking about a husband.”
“Oh, no. A plane can give a lot more pleasure than grief. Not like a husband at all.”
“Those are the words of a bitter woman. You must be divorced.”
His presumptions amazed her. “Actually, I’ve never been married. And I’m not bitter. Just smart.” Her eyes trailed back out the window, and she wished he’d hurry and land so they could get this transaction over with.
“Me either,” he said. “I try not to strap on anything I can live without.”
Lynda laughed out loud, surprising him. “You’ve got to be kidding. You could live without that Porsche you drove up in or that Rolex on your wrist or that diamond cluster on your finger? Those are not the trappings of a man who likes to keep things simple.”
“Hey, I never said I don’t like a little self-indulgence now and then. Besides, we were talking about spouses, not possessions.”
“We were talking about keeping things simple,” she said. “I’m just pointing out your contradictions.”
He was getting annoyed, and something about that pleased her. “It’s not a contradiction to want a few material things. I’m a firm believer in going after whatever makes you happy.”
“Is that what all those things do? Make you happy?”
“Don’t I look like a happy guy?”
She smiled, unable to help herself. “But owning a plane would make you happier?”
“You got it, darlin’. It made you happy, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “It did most of the time.” That melancholy fell over her again, and she tried to steer her mind from imagining what life would be without Solitude.
“I’d like to close the deal as soon as possible,” Jake said, cutting into her thoughts. “When we land, we can discuss the particulars.” She sighed. “I guess the sooner the better. Are you ready to land now?”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ve seen what I need to see.”
Taking the radio mike from its hook, she held it to her mouth. “St. Clair Unicom—Cherokee 1–0–1–2 Delta. We’re ready to land, Mike.”
Mike’s voice crackled in their headphones. “All clear, Lynda. No traffic reported. Runway 4.”
She glanced at Jake as he began to fly parallel to the right side of the runway. “I’ll land, if you want me to.”
“I’ve got it,” he said.
She watched out the window as he boxed around the airport and began his descent, and her heart grew heavier. Absently, her fingertips stroked the soft gray cloth of the seats that were so comfortable to her, and she wondered if she’d ever find another sanctuary that was quite as fulfilling. Jake was getting a real bargain, and she was the big loser. She almost wished she hadn’t cleaned the charcoal carpet last week or polished the instrument panel or vacuumed the cloth ceiling. All those things only contributed to the comfort and luxury of the quiet cabin. If it had been dirty or ragged or badly maintained, maybe he wouldn’t have wanted it.
Jake reached for the lever to release the landing gear, and a short whirring sound followed as it started lowering. But the sound was too short, and Lynda shot a look at the instruments.
“Is there something wrong with these lights?” Jake asked.
Lynda checked the gear indicator lights. According to them, the landing gear hadn’t gone down. She leaned up and grabbed the lever. Nothing happened.
“I heard them go down before,” Jake said. “Didn’t you hear it?”
“It didn’t sound right,” Lynda said. “Either they’re jammed, or the lig
ht’s not working. Pull up.”
She waited as Jake aborted the landing and climbed again. “I’ll check the circuit breaker,” she said. “Keep trying the lever.”
Jake tried again and failed, as Lynda pressed on the circuit breaker marked “gear.”
“It seems okay,” she said, maintaining her calm. “Let me pump it down manually.”
Gripping the hand pump between the seats, she tried to pump it down by hand, but the light still wouldn’t come on.
“Here, let me,” he said, trying to move her hand.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, surrendering it. “The pump moves too easily, and nothing happens.”
Jake tried it, his face growing tense. “It has to be a busted hose, or there’d be more resistance.”
“No,” she argued. “It can’t be. It just can’t.”
But she couldn’t think of anything else it could be, and as panic began to rise inside her, she tried it again.
There was nothing Mike Morgan hated worse than a hotdogger playing with a plane as though it were a paper kite. Aggravated, he watched out the window as the plane feigned a landing, then pulled up at the last minute.
It couldn’t be Lynda flying, he told himself, sitting in his makeshift control tower that looked more like a concession booth. Lynda had too much respect for her plane. It had to be the arrogant guy who belonged to that red Porsche. Grabbing his microphone, he called up to the plane to put a stop to this.
“Cherokee 1–2 Delta—St. Clair Unicom. What’s with the touch-and-go’s, Lynda?”
He waited for an answer, and when he didn’t get one, he pushed the button again. “Lynda? Do you read me?”
Finally, he heard her voice. “We’re having a little problem with our landing gear, Mike. We’re not sure whether it’s down or not.”
“Oh, no,” he said to himself then glanced out at the plane circling overhead.
“Mike, we’re going to do a flyby. Could you come out and see if the gear’s down?”
Mike grabbed his binoculars with his left hand and pressed the button again with his right. “Affirmative, Lynda.”
Then dashing through the glass doors, he tried to see just how much trouble they were really in.
Cherokee 1–2 Delta—St. Clair Unicom. You reading me, Lynda?”
“1–2 Delta.” Bracing herself, Lynda looked over at Jake, whose temples glistened with perspiration. “How does it look, Mike?”
“Worse than we thought, guys. The landing gear is only partially down, and one looks like it’s down further than the other.”
Jake swore, and Lynda closed her eyes and tried to let the news sink in.
“We can’t even do a smooth belly landing if it’s partially down!” Jake said. “And if it’s not locked all the way down, it could squirrel all over the place.”
“Even if it’s locked where it is, we’ll land lopsided,” she said. “We’ll lose a wing and cartwheel.”
Jake grabbed the microphone out of her hand. “Mike, could you see any oil?”
“I was just getting to that,” Mike said. “It looks like there could be oil streaming down the belly behind the gear. Did you try to pump it manually?”
Lynda and Jake exchanged worried looks, and Lynda took the mike back. “We tried, Mike. It has to be a loose hose.”
Jake snatched the microphone again. “Mike, we’re gonna have to take our chances and land with what we’ve got.”
“No!” Lynda shouted. “We could crash! My plane would be destroyed.”
“Not to mention its passengers!” he shouted back at her. “But there isn’t enough fuel for us to stay up here long enough for a miracle, so unless you’ve got any better ideas. . . .”
Viciously, Lynda tried the hand pump again and then the automatic lever, as if the plane might have healed itself in the last few minutes.
Finally giving up, she took the mike back. “It won’t go up or down, Mike. He’s right. We don’t have any choice.”
“I’m so glad you agree,” Jake said caustically.
Lynda ignored him.
“I don’t see any alternative either, Lynda,” Mike admitted. “This could be bad. The wind isn’t gonna help any. This crosswind could be a nightmare.”
“Yeah,” she said, “and if the gear isn’t down all the way, then our brakes aren’t working, either. And the fire hazard. . . .”
Jake jerked the mike back. “If we had a choice, Mike, we’d sure find another way. But we don’t. Are you ready for us or not?”
“No, not yet,” Mike said. “It’ll take some preparation. Just stand by, and I’ll get back to you.”
Silence followed, and Jake set the microphone back on its hook and continued circling the airport.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
It was the closest Lynda had ever been to death, yet she didn’t feel the peace she had always thought she’d feel. She wasn’t ready to die—not mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. Wasn’t there supposed to be a warning so good-byes could be said, apologies made, and affairs put in order? She just wasn’t supposed to take off into the sky on a morning test flight and then never come back down.
“I hope somebody moves my Porsche,” Jake said, eyeing the small airport below them.
Again, Lynda was amazed. “We’re about to crash, and all you care about is your car?”
His expression betrayed his growing anger. “You’re the one who cared more about your plane surviving than the people in it.”
“Hey, I’m in it. I’m not crazy about the prospect of death either!”
Wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve, he said, “Look, we don’t have time for this. We have to get ready, whether we like it or not. I’ll land the plane. I have more experience with emergencies.”
“You don’t have experience with this plane, Lindbergh. The weight’s different, and you don’t have a feel for it. You might bring it down too hard, and with this crosswind—”
“How many real emergency landings have you ever made?” he cut in.
“None. But I know—”
“I’ve had two,” he said. “I’m landing the plane.”
“This is no time for ego!”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
Livid, they stared at each other neither wanting to back down. Suddenly, the cabin seemed too small for both of them, and she wished she could put more space between them. If she could just breathe. . . .
On the verge of tears, she said, “All right, maybe you are more experienced. You land it, and I’ll cut off the engine and the fuel. We’ll need to shut everything off before we touch down. This is gonna take both of us.”
Cursing, Jake tried the pump again, his hands trembling. When it was obvious how hopeless it was, he sent another expletive flying and slammed his hand into the instrument panel. “Piece of trash! Don’t you ever check your landing gear?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “I’ve never had any problem with it at all! I just had an annual three months ago, and everything was fine.”
“A pilot should know every inch of his plane!”
“I didn’t notice you sticking your head up the wheel well on the preflight!”
“It’s your plane.” He wiped his forehead again. “Are you sure you weren’t just trying to unload it on some poor soul before you had to foot some major repair bills?”
Her mouth fell open. “I didn’t even want to sell it! If my father hadn’t died and left me a mountain of debts, you wouldn’t even be here!”
“Lucky me.”
Again, thick silence filled the cabin, and she told herself she wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t do what had to be done if her eyes were blurry with tears. “Look, we have to try to get this plane down without either of us getting killed. Now, if we could just—”
“Cherokee 1–2 Delta,” the radio cut in. “St. Clair Unicom.”
Lynda took the microphone. “1–2 Delta. Go ahead, Mike.”
“We’re trying to clear the runw
ay, but we need a little time to clear the tarmac, too, so no other planes are damaged. Just hang on for a few minutes. You have plenty of fuel, don’t you?”
“Enough to blow us to kingdom come,” Jake muttered.
She sighed and checked the gauge. “About forty minutes’ worth.”
“Well,” Mike said, “it won’t hurt to burn some of that off to cut down on the fire hazard. While we’re waiting, is there anyone either of you would like for us to contact? Jake?”
Jake hesitated for a moment, racking his brain for someone who would care. The little blonde on the steps came to mind, but he only remembered her room number, not her name. He thought of his boss, but in case things came out all right, he was afraid of the conclusions the airline might draw about the crash landing.
Dismally, he realized that there really wasn’t anyone.
“Jake?” Mike prompted. “Do you read me?”
Jake took the mike. “Nobody, okay? I don’t want you to contact anybody.”
He couldn’t escape the long look Lynda gave him.
“Lynda?”
Jake handed the mike to her and saw the emotion pulling at her face. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Contact Sally Crawford at 555–2312. Tell her to cancel all my appointments for this afternoon. But you don’t have to do it now, Mike. Wait until . . . afterward, so she won’t have to sweat this out.”
Jake gaped at her. “Cancel your appointments?”
Her face turned rock hard, and she didn’t answer him.
“Don’t you have a mother or a lover or somebody?” he asked.
“No.”
“So the closest person to you is your secretary? That’s pretty pathetic.”
Her face reddened. “Who do you think you are? At least I had somebody to call. What about your mother or a close friend or even an enemy or two? Surely you must have a couple of women somewhere who’d be interested in knowing you’re about to buy the farm!”
His jaw popped. “Both of my parents are dead. And I’d rather admit there was no one than to hide behind some secretary and all those important appointments.”
“If I wanted someone, I could have someone. There are plenty—” Her voice cracked, and she cut herself off, unable to go on. Tears came to her eyes, making her angrier, and she struggled to hold them back.
Evidence of Mercy Page 2
