When he woke this morning, his plans for the evening had been a celebratory steak dinner, free-flowing alcohol and a beautiful woman, not necessarily in that order. Instead he was holed up in a cave, bleeding and broken. At least he got the beautiful woman part right.
As night faded into dawn, they split a granola bar and bottle of water. They talked about their childhoods and shared funny stories. He knew she was trying to take his mind off the pain and it worked. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard or exposed so much of himself to a woman. He could fall hard for this redhead, feared he already had. If not for the bullet wound, broken foot, and impending unconsciousness, he would take advantage of the healthy dose of lust crackling between them. He needed to close his eyes for just a few minutes before they had to get moving.
Chapter Seven
Dylan had fallen asleep, his mouth pinched with pain even in slumber. Cara hoped he was actually asleep and hadn’t passed out from blood loss. She needed to wake him and make sure, but first, she had a pressing problem to address.
“Dylan, I need to…" She paused, not knowing how to describe the urge. They were in the Godforsaken wilderness, so it wasn't like there was a bathroom close. And she wasn't crude enough to say she had to take a leak. "Pee,” she whispered, figuring it was the best description. He didn’t move, his chest rising and falling in slumber. She wasn’t excited about venturing out by herself, especially since it was starting to get light outside, but she had no choice.
Making as little noise as possible, she moved to the opening. She peeked out before moving a few branches out of the way. Turning to check on Dylan, he still hadn’t moved. She eased through the opening. It felt good to stretch overworked muscles, but she didn’t want to spend too much time away from their hideaway. It was too open. Carefully making her way to the trees, she picked through the undergrowth. She moved far enough away that she wouldn’t be exposed if Dylan woke and came looking for her. There were some things a guy didn't need to see. She found a sturdy tree to steady herself. When she was done, she zipped the flight suit and wished for a bottle of hand sanitizer. She glanced around and then spun in a panicked circle. She couldn't see the cave and she didn’t remember which way she’d travelled. "Don’t panic," she warned herself. It had to be close.
Suddenly a small, sweaty hand clamped over her mouth and something hard poked into her side.
"Don’t move, bitch," the man growled.
~*~
Dylan woke when Cara eased out of the cave. She could be making a break for it, but now that she knew he was one of the good guys, he figured she just had to relieve herself. He eased to a sitting position, wincing at the tug in his arm and throb in his foot. Ignoring the pain, he gathered the supplies and packed them into the bag in case they needed to make a fast getaway. He shrugged on the pack. It was weighty but he'd toted around heavier cargo with the Rangers. Then he went to find her. He heard the struggle before he spotted them.
He needed to be careful. He didn’t want the guy to get an itchy trigger finger. Settling the bag on the ground, he moved stealthily. Picking up a big rock, he tossed it a few feet away. When the guy swung the gun in that direction, Dylan popped up and grabbed the man's arm, slamming it against his knee. The man howled in pain as the gun clattered to the ground and his bone shattered, forcing him to lose his grip on Cara. With a quick elbow to the temple, Dylan knocked the guy out.
Cara was breathing heavily, her eyes wide in fear. He retrieved the duct tape and started to bind the man’s arms when she jerked the roll from him and finished the job. With one arm he pulled the guy close to a tree. "Strap him to it," he instructed. Once the guy was disabled, he patted him down, happy to find a cell phone.
"Let’s roll."
The pack was draped over his good shoulder as they hurried forward. The light made it easier to navigate. Cara spotted the plane first. "What are you doing?" she hissed.
Ignoring her question, he pulled her along as they eased around the clearing, looking for any signs of life.
"Dylan…"
"I’m getting us out of here," he answered.
~*~
Frankie was so mad he could feel his blood pressure skyrocket. Davidson got the jump on another one of his men. He found Conroy gagged and bound to a tree. The man had a nasty bump on his head, but no bullet wound. However, his arm was hanging at an unnatural angle.
"What happened?" Frankie asked as he cut him loose from the tree.
Conroy moaned, cradling his broken arm. “I had the woman and next thing I know, I’m knocked out.”
"Who did it?"
"I never saw him," Conroy admitted, shaking his legs to get the blood flowing.
"So you let someone get the jump on you and let the woman get away.”
Conroy looked chagrined. "Sorry, boss."
"Yes, you are," Frankie confirmed before pulling the trigger.
A look of shock crossed Conroy's face before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over dead.
Frankie kicked the corpse for good measure. He didn’t need anyone this incompetent in his employ. He needed strong men, brave men, fighters. People who could get the job done right. He needed men like Davidson. Dammit.
The deadline had passed hours ago, the new contact lost. It was time to gather the rest of his rag-tag band of misfits, head home and regroup. Figure out a way to find Davidson and make him pay.
He was headed back to the plane when he heard the roar of a motor start up.
Chapter Eight
They made it to the helicopter undetected. Cara had just strapped on the safety belt when Dylan handed her a set of earphones. "The noise will alert anyone close by," he told her. "I’ll take off as soon as possible, but be prepared to duck when bullets fly."
She nodded, her stomach in her throat. They were so close to freedom, she could taste it. Dylan met her gaze. "Ready?"
"Ready," she confirmed with as much bravado as a former non-risk-taker could muster.
He flipped a switch on the helo, bringing the big bird roaring to life. She prayed Dylan knew what he was doing and could actually pilot the chopper. She glanced at his strong profile. He caught her stare and smiled. Even injured, he was the bravest, most competent man she'd ever met…and the most gorgeous. She had no doubt he could fly.
Two of Frankie’s men must have been camped inside the plane because they jumped out, yelling. Dylan lifted off to a hail of bullets. He pushed her head down as he concentrated on keeping them airborne. Cara spun around to watch the men scramble back inside the plane and the propellers slowly start to spin.
"They're going to follow us," she said in the headset.
"No worries. We can easily outrun them," Dylan assured her. "That hunk of metal is older than Methuselah. I'm surprised it still flies."
His calm tone eased her nerves, even when the plane rumbled along and lifted into the air behind them. Dylan handled the helicopter with competence and ease, his damaged arm not even slowing him down. It took talent to fly a bird…but then, she didn't think there was anything he couldn't do. She swiveled back around to make sure the plane couldn’t catch them when she noticed the nose dip and sway.
"Dylan…"
"I see it." They both watched as the ancient plane sputtered and stalled, black smoke billowing from the wings. Then the propellers stopped and it looked to be suspended in mid-air. Suddenly it plummeted to the ground like an anchor before erupting into a huge ball of flames.
~*~
Dylan called his boss from the helicopter, informing him of all that had transpired. He was in so much pain, sweat coated his entire body. He needed to find the nearest place to safely set the bird down. His boss directed him to a hospital with a helo pad. The staff had been notified of their arrival, so as soon as he touched down and powered off, orderlies were on their way to whisk him inside.
"Will I see you again?"
Before he could answer, a paramedic propped the door open, their solitude shattered.
> Things happened quickly. Dylan was separated from Cara and placed on a gurney. IVs were inserted and drugs pumped into his system as they ushered him to the Emergency Room. The last thing he heard before he gave into the darkness was her whispered goodbye.
Chapter Nine
Cara sipped a tangy Merlot and stared into the roaring flames of her gas fireplace. It was Christmas Eve. Garland and stockings hung from the mantle, twinkling lights glowed on the massive tree she'd splurged on in the corner of the living room. Mistletoe hung from the doorways and pine-scented potpourri filled dishes placed throughout the room. Several presents were scattered underneath the tree, mostly gifts she purchased for herself. Her parents had shipped a big box of goodies and they were interspersed among the other packages. There were a couple addressed to a certain DEA agent she hadn't heard from in over four weeks. The last time she saw him, he'd been battered and unconscious, hooked up to beeping machines in the hospital. She'd been spirited away to be interviewed for two days. When she returned to the hospital, he was gone. No forwarding address, no message, nothing.
The people who interviewed her wouldn’t tell her anything beyond the fact that he was recuperating. She'd used every contact she had in the newspaper industry to track him down to no avail. The DEA was a secretive bunch. She'd held out hope he would contact her. Then the days whittled away and nothing. He'd obviously forgotten her.
She might've met her goal of a man by Christmas, but she hadn't kept him, so it probably didn't count.
At least she didn’t have to worry about Frankie coming after her since he’d died in the horrific crash. The last she heard, the bodies hadn’t been identified because they were burned beyond recognition. Dylan's boss kept in contact with her the first two weeks and he told her there’d been no sign of Frankie anywhere, so they were almost certain he was among the casualties.
The paper had given her time off after her ordeal if she promised to write an exposé when she returned. She agreed, and when she’d sat down to write it, the words flowed from her fingers. It was her best work to date, even if she had to disguise Dylan's name to protect him. He was the hero and deserved recognition, but it was the only way his boss would give her details she needed. Her editor insisted she'd no doubt win an award, too. She really didn't care. All she wanted was Dylan.
She thought about taking a vacation, but she didn't want to be gone in case he tried to get in touch with her. Stupid now, since she hadn't heard from him.
Her phone jingled and her heart gave a little leap, as it had every time it'd rung the past few weeks. She tried not to be disappointed that it was her mom calling from the ship. She'd splurged for her parents and sent them on an Alaskan cruise for the holidays. They'd always wanted to go and after her life or death ordeal, she realized life was too short. It was important to her that she make their wish come true this year. Her brother was spending Christmas with his in-laws, so she was all alone.
Her parents tried to get her to come along on the cruise, insisting that they would pay her way, but again, she wanted to stay close to home in case Dylan tried to get in touch with her. Silly, but it was her wish to Santa.
After her parents assured her they were having a great time, eating lots of food and taking advantage of all of the luxuries on the ship, she hung up and padded to the tree. Lifting a package, she carried it to the sofa. She'd purchased a few gifts for herself and wrapped them, knowing she would be alone. In her previous life, BD—Before Dylan—she would’ve carefully torn off the paper, trying to save as much as possible to reuse and recycle. But with her new outlook on life, she ripped into it gleefully like a seven-year-old. The logo on top of the box proclaimed the name of an elegant boutique in town. She opened the lid and peered at the flimsy red negligee, something the old Cara would never have had the nerve to buy, let alone wear. She stripped off her sweats and slid it on, the silk feeling cool and smooth against her skin. She felt sexy, daring, bold. If Dylan could see her now.
She couldn’t blame him for staying away. They'd only spent one day together and it had been filled with unbelievable adventure. Just because she fell in love with him that fast didn’t mean he had. But she wanted to see him one more time, thank him for saving her life and helping her change. She was no longer Careful Cara, afraid to take a risk. She was Carefree Cara, embracing adventure with both arms. Her editor had allowed her to change the title of her column to reflect her new-found confidence, especially after the exposé.
And the adventure she wanted to embrace was Dylan.
Her doorbell rang and her pulse leaped. Dylan! He'd finally come for her. She swung the door open wide.
~*~
Frankie had been waiting for this moment for a month. It took a while for him to track the bitch down, especially since he couldn’t go home because of all the feds sniffing around. Davidson had been a cop. He shook his head. He still couldn’t believe it. The guy was too ruthless, cunning. He should've known but he’d been so in awe of his cool confidence and calm strength, he’d never suspected.
First he’d take care of the redheaded bitch. Then he was going after Davidson. That debt was personal.
Everyone thought he was dead, that he’d perished in the crash with the others. He was the only one that knew they took off without him. He hadn’t even been on the plane. Oh, he'd been pissed when he saw the big bird lift off, shaking his fist and cursing to high heaven. Were these men betraying him, too? Then the aircraft sputtered and crashed into the earth in a mighty fireball of epic proportions. He was sorry to lose the men, but it saved him from having to kill them, which he would do with those who were now under arrest and blaming him for everything. Traitors. Just like that turncoat Davidson.
He’d been watching the house for a day now. No one had come or gone, so the bitch—Cara he found out—was alone. Perfect. He’d hoped to find Davidson here with her so he could kill two birds with one stone. But no sign of him.
He thought about breaking in, but what better Christmas present than to walk right up to the door and surprise her. She wouldn't be expecting him. Hell, everyone including his brain-addled mother thought he was pushing up daisies.
Brushing his died black hair from his face, he strolled up the sidewalk to her house and pushed the button. Jingle Bells played and he rolled his eyes. A few seconds later the door whipped open and the bitch—whoa, he forgot what a knockout she was—appeared. A huge smile quickly morphed into a mask of utter shock. She screamed and dropped a wine glass, shattering it on the concrete porch. She tried to slam the door but he shoved his foot in the opening and pushed against the wood plank, forcing himself inside.
“Hi there, sweet thing,” he sneered. “Did you miss me?”
~*~
Cara couldn’t breathe. Frankie was standing in front of her, pushing his way into her house. She’d had a feeling, a sixth sense, that Dylan would come to her tonight. She’d been so sure it was him, she didn’t even check the peephole. Now she was standing in front of her worst nightmare in a skimpy red negligée and nothing else.
He shoved inside and closed the door, a look of pure malevolence etched across his ugly face. His eyes were small black dots, narrowed in lust as they raked her body. She’d never felt so exposed. She searched desperately for a weapon, something to use to fight him off. She cried out when he grabbed her hair and shoved a pistol under her chin.
“Don't worry, bitch," he breathed into her ear. "You ain't gonna die yet. I’m gonna enjoy you before I kill you.” She couldn’t stop the full-body shudder that racked her body.
Chapter Ten
He shouldn’t have waited so long to contact her, but after he recovered, Dylan concentrated his efforts on recuperating and destroying the rest of Frankie’s motley operation. There weren’t many people left in the organization, but they would all do time for Frankie’s crimes. And they were singing like yellow-bellied canaries.
The remains from the plane still hadn’t been identified. They had trouble locating dental records for an
y of the crew. Apparently drug dealers didn't visit the dentist for yearly check-ups. Frankie’s elderly mother hadn’t been any help. She was in the late stages of dementia and didn’t remember a son named Frankie. Dylan thought that maybe deep down, she knew what Frankie was and her forgetting him was her brain’s way of dealing with his crimes.
He hadn’t talked to Cara since the helicopter ride that he didn’t even remember. He was just glad he was able to get her to safety before he passed out.
He read her story in the paper and it was good. Damn good. She'd changed his name to protect his identity, just as his boss had requested. There were plenty of people who'd love to take out a DEA agent, and he'd definitely pissed off his share of criminals.
He should've chased after her as soon as he was released, but he didn’t trust his feelings. They'd just met, he couldn’t have fallen for her that fast. He didn't believe in the ridiculous notion of love at first sight. Still, after a month apart, if anything, his feelings strengthened.
So here he was, standing in front of her home, a small gift in hand as he gazed at her twinkling Christmas lights. Plastic reindeer stood sentinel beside a jolly Santa Claus, and lights danced merrily along the frame of the house. Smoke drifted from a large brick chimney. It was snowing lightly, a white Christmas. A perfect Christmas.
He thought about calling first, but decided against it. She would probably be pissed he hadn’t contacted her before now. And what kind of idiot showed up on Christmas Eve? She probably had family staying with her…maybe a boyfriend. He frowned.
Navigating the curving brick walkway, he approached her house. He knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped onto the porch. The concrete was stained red and he would've thought it was blood if not for the shards of broken glass.
Flying High Christmas Page 4
