"Thank you very much for saving my life. I’ll just be going." She turned in the opposite direction.
"Not so fast."
A large hand clamped down on her wrist. "You think I’m letting you go now, Red," he drawled, "you’re dead wrong." Then she saw the gun.
She didn’t like how he emphasized the word ‘dead.’
Chapter Three
Frankie Francona cursed as he stumbled over another downed tree, its insides rotting and moldy. He hated the outdoors, and traipsing through this musty, Godforsaken forest was seriously pissing him off. He had underlings who should be doing the dirty work for him but he was running out of time. He glanced at his watch as sweat broke out along his forehead. They were supposed to meet his new buyer in less than two hours. If he couldn’t get the goods there on time, the man would take his business elsewhere. He couldn’t afford to lose this contact. The drug business was cut-throat and brutal. There would be twenty different suppliers eager to step into his place in a heartbeat. He had to make sure that didn’t happen.
What the hell had Davidson been thinking, diving out of the plane after the woman? Frankie had been mad until he realized the woman stole a major part of his stash. Then he’d been so angry, he almost jumped out after them…until he realized he had no idea how to use a parachute. Davidson obviously did, since they’d spotted his tangled in a tree. It’s how they knew where to land after turning the plane around.
Frankie expected to get off the plane and find Davidson standing there with a smug smile and the pack, the woman either tied up or dead. But when he came across the remains of the used parachute and no sign of either of them, he started to worry. Maybe the woman got away and Davidson was tracking her. That was the most logical explanation. He didn’t want to think his partner, his confidante, would steal a bag of smack from him. He shook his head. If Davidson wanted to rip him off, he had access to the entire stash hidden away in the basement of Frankie’s elderly mother’s house. He could've pinched it at any time.
Somehow the red-headed menace got the jump on Davidson, one of the most logical and competent men Frankie had ever met. Truthfully, he looked up to Davidson, even though he was supposed to be the man in charge. There was a quiet assurance about Davidson, a 'don’t mess with me' attitude that made even the most hardened criminal take a step back. Frankie liked to think of himself as the brains and Davidson the brawn. They made the perfect team.
He'd been so excited when he’d talked Davidson into working with him a few months ago. The man had his own small successful operation going and Frankie convinced him they could triple, heck, quadruple their profits if they teamed up. Davidson had been leery at first, but Frankie finally managed to bring him on board. Davidson had proven his worth ever since. Even the buyer they were meeting today had been Davidson’s find, one that could potentially take them to the next level. The man was international, meaning the business would expand into broader markets. A wider reach meant more money. Frankie was so excited for this deal he could hardly stand it. He had so much pent-up energy he needed to find a release. That'd been his thinking when the redhead with the killer body stepped into their hanger wanting to learn how to skydive. One look and he knew exactly how to expend the excess energy.
But then the woman opened her mouth and never shut it again. She questioned every single thing he said or did. Looks or not, he had no patience for the constant inquiries. Her endless chatter started to put him in a bad mood and he wouldn’t allow her to ruin his day. He felt no remorse pushing her out of the plane. He assumed Davidson would feel the same way—probably did. Davidson was just making sure he got the goods back before killing her. Frankie was sure of that.
His cell rang and he stopped to answer, sweat trickling down his face, pissing him off all over again.
“What?”
“Any sign, Boss?”
Big Tony was cutting in and out but his harsh breaths sawed through loud and clear. The man was in no shape to be trekking through the woods…or doing any kind of aerobic activity for that matter. He was one cheeseburger away from a major coronary. “No. Keep looking. And Big Tony…don’t come back until you find them.” He felt no guilt for forcing the overweight man to continue on the quest. This was too important.
Big Tony said something else that cut out. Frankie looked at his cell to find the signal had dropped. Just freaking great. He was in a stinking forest in the middle of nowhere with no cell service and very little patience.
That red-headed bitch would pay, one way or another.
Chapter Four
Could this be a bigger disaster? Dylan’s foot throbbed with every step he took. Plus, his men were waiting at the landing strip to take possession of the shipment and he wouldn’t be there to facilitate. Now he was on the run for his life with chatty Cathy, who even now as they tore through the forest at a rapid clip, broken foot and all, wouldn’t stop blabbering.
She tripped—again—this time almost taking him down with her since he wasn’t about to let go of her hand.
"Could you please slow down, George? I can’t see a thing."
"You can’t see when you are dead, either, Red. And why the hell are you calling me George? Do I look like a George to you?"
"George, as in Jung. You know, the man who established the American cocaine trade in the 1970s. Probably your hero," she grumbled.
He chuckled. "So what you're really saying, Red, is that you think I look like Johnny Depp?" he teased, referring to the actor who portrayed Jung in the blockbuster movie.
She snorted. "Yeah, right. Well, you do both have that scruffy, bad boy thing going on. But he's like a foot shorter and not nearly as muscular."
"Is that a compliment, Red?"
"Just stating a fact, and could you please slow down."
"Try taking off the goggles." His eyes crossed as she practically ripped his arm out of the socket when she jerked to a stop. She peeled off the goggles with a look of disgust on her full pouty lips and slammed her hand on her hip. He needed to quit focusing on those kissable lips. "That didn’t occur to you earlier when they fogged over?"
"Well excuse me, mister bad-ass, know-it-all drug kingpin, but no, it did not occur to me. I, unlike you who embraces a life of crime, have never been on the run for my life before. Pardon me for not knowing the correct protocol."
He chuckled again. She was a firecracker. Too bad they were running for their lives. He'd enjoy getting to know her and her fiery temper.
Pain slowed their progress. His foot was definitely broken, but he'd lived through worse during his Army Ranger days. He'd once suffered three broken ribs, a shattered arm and concussion and still managed to tote his unconscious teammate to safety. He needed to stop and wrap the foot somehow. Frankie would easily catch up to him with a gimp leg.
Plus, he could hear Cara's harsh breathing and knew she wouldn't be able to keep up much longer. The thought of Frankie getting his hands on her urged him faster. Frankie wouldn’t make her death quick or painless. He would tie her up, gag her and use her first before he killed her. As long as he was breathing, Dylan wouldn’t let that happen. They had to find a place to hide so he could call…
"Dammit." He jerked to a stop and Cara plowed into his back.
"Ow," she whined, rubbing her nose.
"Sorry," he mumbled. How could he be so stupid? This was an important case, had taken months of planning and undercover work. He should've been one hundred percent focused on the goal, not on the gorgeous redhead who'd stumbled into their path. But his only thought when Frankie pushed her out of the plane had been that he couldn't let her die. She was innocent. Her life didn't deserve to be reduced to collateral damage. So when he leaped out of the plane to save her, he’d left his phone behind. His gun he had, thankfully. It never left his side. But his phone was stashed in a secret compartment inside his duffle bag.
"Change of plans," he announced, tugging her arm as he turned back into the woods. He fought through the underbrush, trying to forge a pa
th and make as little noise as possible at the same time.
"Why are we going this direction? Is that poison ivy? Are there snakes? What about mosquitoes?"
Dylan rolled his eyes. She really had a motor mouth.
"Let's play a game. We'll see who can be quiet the longest. Starting now."
~*~
"I'm sorry," Cara huffed. "I talk when I'm nervous. I can't help it. It's a reflex…"
"Quiet!"
"I said I'm sorry!"
A big hand clamped over her mouth and she was roughly tugged down behind a fallen tree.
"Someone's coming."
She shivered as his breath caressed her ear. She crouched lower and saw a heavyset man she recognized as the co-pilot lumbering down the path, a deadly looking gun in one hand, a cell phone pressed to his ear in the other. He was sweating profusely and his shirt was soaked. He really didn't look too good. She hoped he didn't have a heart attack…it'd been a long time since she'd taken CPR classes and she wasn't sure she remembered what to do. His gaze swept the area and she held her breath, letting it go when his eyes passed over them.
Dylan waited until he was out of sight before he pulled her up and urged her forward. The rest had felt so good. Her legs were cramping and felt like limp noodles. She didn't have on the right shoes to be hiking through the woods. She wanted to ask where they were going. She didn't have the greatest sense of direction, but it seemed to her as if they were headed back to where the plane landed earlier. He would probably just tell her to shut up if she asked.
Ten minutes later, she couldn't take it any longer. "Where are you going? You do realize you're headed right to them, don't you?" He either didn't hear her or ignored her question. He seemed to have excellent hearing so she assumed the latter. When they broke through to the clearing and she spotted the ancient plane she gasped.
Dylan had stopped and was canvassing the area. "Wait here," he instructed, as he released his grip on her hand. "I'll be right back." He moved stealthily towards the plane, not sparing a glance in her direction.
Like hell. She wasn't going to wait here while he jumped in the plane, probably to take off without her, leaving her to fend for herself against Frankie and his drug-addled cohorts. He was the lesser of two evils, after all. She hurried after him. He stopped abruptly and she crashed into him again. Darn it, that hurt. Her nose was going to be bruised tomorrow. It was like running face first into a boulder.
"I said to wait back there," he growled. "I need to get something from inside the plane."
"I'm coming with you."
He muttered something no doubt unflattering under his breath. When he turned back to the plane, he latched onto her wrist and tugged her along. When they reached the open door, he tersely instructed her to stay put while he retrieved whatever he needed inside. Her eyes searched the area, hoping not to spot Frankie headed their way. When she didn't see anything, she moved her search to the plane, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon or even help with their escape. She didn't even hear the steps behind her until an arm snaked around her waist. "Dyl—" was all she could manage before a hand slammed over her mouth and she was towed roughly backwards.
Now she truly was going to die on her birthday.
~*~
Dylan hefted himself into the plane, grimacing as he put weight on his broken foot. He needed to grab his phone and get out of there before Frankie, Big Tony or the pilot returned. He found his phone easily and slipped it into his pocket. He'd just stuffed a flashlight, a couple bottles of water and a handful of granola bars into the backpack full of cocaine when he heard Cara's abbreviated scream. Whipping out his Glock, he eased forward and saw the pilot dragging her away, or trying to. She was putting up a heck of a fight.
He had no beef with Bob. He seemed like an okay guy except that he flew immoral drug dealers and their goods around the country. He was no innocent. Dylan needed to stop him before he hurt Red or alerted Frankie.
Cara managed to elbow him in the ribs hard enough that he "oofed," and released her. It was all the opening Dylan needed. He fired, nailing Bob in the upper arm. While Bob howled and grabbed for the bullet wound, Dylan leaped from the plane to land on his good leg. He tied Bob's feet together to immobilize him. Cara appeared beside him, holding a roll of duct tape she snatched from just inside the plane. He nodded his approval and ripped a strip to cover Bob's mouth so he couldn't yell for Frankie.
"You should blindfold him, too," Cara suggested. "So he can't see which way we go."
She was a natural. "Good thinking." He ripped another strip of tape and covered Bob's watering eyes.
He stopped suddenly and listened. "Do you hear that?"
"Is that a helicopter?"
"Reinforcements," he said grimly.
Chapter Five
Dylan moved as fast as his broken foot would allow, trying to put as much distance between them and the four other members of Frankie's posse who'd just touched down in an old Sikorsky helicopter. None of the four were trained fighters. They were street thugs, drug addicts. If he were at one hundred percent, he could’ve outrun them easily. But with Cara and his broken foot, he'd have to rely on outsmarting them, which considering all of them had fried most of their brain cells with narcotics, shouldn't be that hard.
But the foot, that was a serious liability. It throbbed with every step. He pulled out the cell phone, not really surprised when he couldn't get a signal. They were deep in the woods in the middle of nowhere. Right now he needed to find a place to hide for a few hours, then he'd worry about getting a signal. He didn't think Frankie would continue searching after dark. His men didn't have the skills or ability for night recon.
Cara had been uncharacteristically quiet after learning Frankie had called in reinforcements. She hadn't even complained about the grueling pace he'd set or the rough terrain. She just gritted her teeth and marched forward.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Excuse me?"
She huffed. "I asked why you’re helping me. Why aren't you back there with your buddies, lighting up a doobie or something." She mimicked smoking a joint.
He chuckled. He seemed to do that a lot around her. "What makes you think I'm helping you?"
"Well, for one thing, I'm not dead."
"Not yet, but if you don't pick up the pace, that might change."
Just as he hoped, she gave an exasperated sigh and moved faster. He smiled.
"I really want to know why you’re helping me."
"Maybe I'm helping myself, two point five mil worth of product and all. No partner means more profit for me."
"That must be some seriously good stuff for the price to keep going up," she muttered. He chuckled again.
"If that's what you're doing, you could've left me back there when the guy grabbed me, but you didn't. Why did you shoot him to save me?"
He shrugged. "I'm a ruthless bastard. I just like shooting people."
She slapped him on the back. "Cut the crap. Whether you admit it or not, you're helping me. You saved my life twice now. I didn't think drug dealers had a heart."
“Know a lot of drug dealers, do you?”
“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled in frustration.
A smile was becoming a permanent fixture on his face around her. He was having more fun than he’d had in a long time. Pain wiped the grin away. He spotted a small opening in a cropping of rocks. He'd have to camouflage the hole but it should be a good place to hide for a few hours so she could rest and tape his broken foot.
"Over there," he indicated.
Cara glanced around, her eyes widening when she spotted the cave. "You've got to be kidding me."
He shook his head, biting back a smile at the look of horror on her face.
"You mean you want me to crawl into that dark, damp hole with who knows what kind of creatures lurking inside and hanging on the ceiling?"
"Good a place as any to rest for a bit."
She threw out her arms in resignation. "I'm so tired, I
don't even care if there are bats in there." She sighed, moving quicker than she had all day. His smile was back.
Dylan swept the narrow opening with a flashlight, finding no critters on the ground or attached to the roof. He was secretly relieved. He wasn't a big fan of flying mammals, either. Cara crawled inside and he shoved the pack in after her. "I'll be back."
Cara grabbed his hand. "Wait—where are you going?"
"I’ve got to gather supplies to camouflage the opening."
She nodded and reluctantly released his hand.
~*~
Cara shivered, more from nerves than fear. She didn’t like dark narrow spaces and she hated creepy critters. Being alone in the cave with dusk settling outside wasn’t her idea of fun. Neither was dying at the hands of an evil drug dealer.
She jumped when a big branch covered the opening, followed by more branches and twigs. It was getting frighteningly dark inside and she had to work to control her breathing. In and out. In and out. Finally Dylan brushed the branches aside and joined her, re-covering the opening from the inside. When he was satisfied, he turned to her and handed her the flashlight.
"Shine it on my foot," he instructed. She noticed him limping when they first started out but she had been so shocked to discover he was a dealer too, she forgot to ask what happened. "Did you twist your ankle?"
"Something like that," he hedged, easing off his boot with a hiss. He carefully peeled off the dirty sock and she sucked in a breath. His foot was hugely swollen and purple.
"Oh, Dylan, it's broken, isn't it?"
"Yeah." He rummaged inside the canvas backpack and pulled out the duct tape she'd found inside the plane. He eased his sock back on, wincing as he taped it tightly.
"You need to see a doctor. Get a cast so it can heal properly."
"You got a doctor handy? I'm more than willing to let him check it out, Red. Otherwise, it'll have to wait until we find somewhere safe."
Flying High Christmas Page 2
