Tailspin
“You’ll have to swim the rest of the way,” he called. “Can you do that?”
The way she dipped below the water, that desperate look on her face, he wasn’t sure she had any reserves left enough to swim all the way. But she was already swimming toward him even as the words left his mouth.
He stood on the pontoon and leaned out, encouraging her and at the same time glancing intermittently to the shore, watching for the shooter. They had to hurry.
“Come on, you can make it.”
Determination flooded her features as she inched forward. Will reached for her at the same moment she grabbed on to the pontoon. She rested her head against it, catching her breath. Intelligent hazel eyes stared up, measuring him, her bluish lips quivering.
He thrust his hand out. “We need to get out of here.”
She grabbed his hand and held his gaze. “Thank you.”
Rifle fire exploded in the distance. They both instinctively ducked, but other than the plane itself, there was no cover.
“Hurry.” He assisted her up and into the plane, not missing that she was bleeding from a gash in her suit. She needed help in more ways than one.
When she was secured in the seat, he found a blanket and threw it over her, then quickly secured himself and headed away from land. Another chink let him know his plane had taken another hit.
A wonder the rifleman hadn’t succeeded in killing them already. But depending on the damage to the plane, the outcome remained to be seen. If he felt any trouble he could land them quickly enough, but he had to get them away from this place. He lifted off the water and glanced at her, noticing she visibly paled.
“You’re not going to get sick on me, are you?”
Shivering, she shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Well, which was it? But he wouldn’t give her a hard time.
“I need to get my diving gear.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She stared at him, the gold flecks in her hazel eyes blazing. “Please. I appreciate your help, the risk to your life, everything you’ve done, but I might need to treat myself for decompression sickness.”
“You’re with me now. I’ll get you to Juneau where they can treat you.” Treating oneself was never a good idea.
“Can we just do a flyby to see if it’s safe or not?”
It didn’t sound as if she believed he would get her to Juneau. Will held back anything derogatory he might have said. “All right. Where is it?”
“I stashed it on the north side of the island where I’d been diving. There was a boat there last I saw, so that might mean trouble for us.”
“I don’t suppose now would be a good time for you to tell me what’s going on.”
“I would if I could. I don’t know exactly. I was scuba diving when another diver appeared and tried to kill me. I escaped and swam to the surface, but my boat was missing. I swam to the island and barely made it out of the water and stowed my gear when I saw the man with the rifle. I’d been running from him, well, until you came along.”
“And you believed you could trust me?” Now that almost had him grinning.
“When he shot at you, I knew you were here to help.”
Will banked to the right, flying around the island to the north, hoping the boat she’d mentioned would be long gone. He looked her over. She’d tugged the hood of her dry suit off and worked the blanket over her medium-length hair to dry it. He wouldn’t say she was pretty, in so many words, but she definitely had a presence about her that he might find compelling if he was looking to be compelled.
“There’s the boat. We might have a chance.” Will kept his disappointment in check. “But we need to make this quick. Where’s your gear?”
She pointed. “Over there along the shoreline in the trees. See that big, funny-looking boulder?”
“And you’re sure this is a good idea?”
“No.”
Just what he wanted to hear. “I like an honest woman.”
Will brought the plane down on the water and eased up against a sandbar. He pulled out his weapon. “You stay put. Tell me where exactly, and I’ll find it.”
Her eyes grew wide. “No, you don’t have to risk your life for me.”
A little late for that, but he didn’t say as much. Without another word he hopped from his plane. “Where?”
She pointed. “Just there, by that larger boulder.”
The rifleman was well on the other side of the island, but Will didn’t know who else he might have to contend with. Wary of his surroundings, weapon at the ready, he crept forward until he spotted her diving gear—double tanks. He hated the sight of them. Diving had killed his father. He grabbed the tanks but couldn’t get a grip on the fins as well as hold his weapon in case he needed to use it.
She appeared next to him and snatched up the rest. Regulator, mask, snorkel, fins and buoyancy vest. “It’s all important.”
Carrying her dive equipment, they hurried back to the plane. Will noticed the boat heading their way. “We’re out of time.”
He lugged the tanks into the back as she tossed in the rest of her gear. Then he started the plane, speeding away on the water as he waited for her to secure herself in the seat.
Once they were airborne again and flying safely away from the boat and the island, Will glanced over at her.
Eyes closed, she pressed her head against the seat. “You said you’re taking me to Juneau, right?”
“Unless you have a better idea.”
“As long as they have a hyperbaric chamber.” She opened her eyes, but squeezed the armrest.
“I’m flying low enough, the pressure shouldn’t cause you more DCS problems.” She didn’t seem to find that comforting.
The plane hit turbulence. Will had long ago learned to ride the waves in the air—better to flow with them than to fight them. But his passenger’s face went a shade whiter. These flights were rough on most others who weren’t accustomed.
He had to get her mind off it. “What’s your name?”
“Sylvie... Sylvie Masters.” She gripped the armrest so hard, he thought she might break it.
She didn’t ask for his name in return, but it was that moment when he should give it. Billy Pierson was the name everyone called him. Will had never much liked the name Billy as a kid, and wasn’t sure why he continued to put up with it as an adult. With his father gone, changing it seemed almost disrespectful. But now his mother, who had called him Will, was gone, too. Maybe it was time he changed things out of respect for her.
Even though Sylvie didn’t ask, Will told her anyway. “You can call me Will. I’m Will Pierson.”
And with the pronouncement he felt the slightest hitch in his plane, a very unfamiliar sensation that had nothing at all to do with turbulence.
THREE
“Will. I like that name.” She squeezed her eyes shut again, forcing her mind on anything but the bouncing plane. She was powerless against the jarring movement that barraged her with images of a rodeo cowboy riding a disgruntled bull. Her stomach roiling, she prayed she’d last more than the required eight seconds before being thrown.
Tossing a quick glance at Will, she hoped he hadn’t noticed her distress, though it was not likely he would have missed it. His black hair was neatly trimmed beneath his Mountain Cove Air ball cap. It looked as if he was trying to grow a beard, or he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Though he looked barely thirty—late twenties even—he had an edge to him, an aura of experience about him that made him seem older. Despite his jacket, she could tell he was strong and fit.
“If you hadn’t shown up when you did, I don’t know what I would have done. My options had run out. But in helping me, you might have gotten yourself wrapped up in my troubles.”
“And what are your troubles?”
“You know as much as I do. I don’t know why someone would want to kill me.” Sylvie wished she hadn’t said the words out loud. They disturbed her. She quickly changed the subject. Riding in the death trap of a plane was enough to handle at the moment. “Where’re you from, Will?”
“Mountain Cove.”
Sylvie couldn’t help the shiver that ran across her shoulders. Her mother would have snarled at the mention of Mountain Cove. From all she’d told Sylvie, Mountain Cove was nothing but a bunch of backwater, back-stabbing gossipers. Her mother had reason enough to feel that way, Sylvie supposed, considering she’d had a secret affair with an already married pillar of the community and the man had ended his relationship with her. Pregnant, Sylvie’s mother had been ashamed and fled Mountain Cove.
Sylvie kept to herself the fact that her father was from Mountain Cove. She’d never met him, though that would be impossible now that he was deceased. But her half siblings lived there, too. A surreal desperation flooded her—she wanted to meet the Warren siblings—her half siblings. See what they were made of. Come to her own conclusions about them, and what her real father was like and the people of Mountain Cove.
Despite all Sylvie’s mother’s negative talk about the town, she’d been on her way back to Mountain Cove for reasons unknown to Sylvie when she’d taken that last, fatal flight. But Sylvie didn’t want to share any of this with Will. She didn’t know a thing about him except that he’d saved her today.
The plane lurched to the right and Sylvie’s stomach went with it. She released a telling groan.
“It gets rough through here. Sorry.”
“So far it’s been a walk in the meadow.” Sylvie regretted her sarcasm. Will didn’t deserve it.
But he laughed. He had a sense of humor, which was more than Sylvie could say for herself. Somehow the thick timbre of his mirth relaxed her.
“You never did say where you’re from, by the way.”
No, she hadn’t. He hadn’t asked, but normal conversation would have required she reciprocate when he’d told her he was from Mountain Cove.
“The Seattle area. I teach scuba diving for commercial divers and I volunteer for search-and-rescue dive operations.”
The man next to her shifted in his seat and seemed uneasy. “My dad died in a diving accident. I haven’t gone diving since.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. My mother died in a plane crash.” She regretted her tone. She hadn’t meant it to sound as though she was in a competition.
The plane jerked with his reaction, subtle though it was. “Well, we have something in common, after all. My mother died in a plane crash, too.”
Oh, why had she revealed so much? She wasn’t sure what more she should tell him, if anything. He didn’t deserve to get mixed up in her problems. But what if he already was? Had the men who tried to kill her today paid attention to Will and his plane? Would they track him down and exact some sort of killing revenge?
She should have realized this from the beginning. The attack on her today must have to do with her mother’s plane crash. She was close to finding the crash and someone didn’t want her there. What else could it be? Or was she exhibiting the crazy imagination of someone suffering through mild hypothermia and the bends all at the same time?
A snippet of her mother’s voice mail raced across her mind.
I’m flying to Mountain Cove on a bush plane. I know what you’re thinking, but I’ll tell you more when I get there. It’s Damon... Oh... I’ve gotta go...
A rattling din—something entirely new—rose above the whir of the propellers, and a tremor joined the rattle. Was this normal? She squeezed the armrests again because there wasn’t anything else to grab. Sylvie’s warnings to her mother about flying came rushing back, swirling with images of her mother. Her relationship with Sylvie’s stepfather, Damon Masters, and the endless arguments.
Secrets.
Was her life flashing before her eyes like she’d so often heard would happen in the last few moments of life?
“What’s happening?”
When Will didn’t answer, she risked opening her eyes. His features were tight.
Okay, well, that doesn’t look good. “If I survive this, I’m never flying again. I wouldn’t be on this plane now if I had any other choice. No offense.”
“None taken.” His voice had an edge to it. “You miss out on a lot if you don’t fly. You’ll never see the world like this, see the wonders of Alaska, if you don’t get in the air and soar with the eagles.”
“Are you saying this is normal?” Her teeth clattered along with the plane.
“You just have to roll with it if you can. But if it makes you feel any better, I know what I’m doing.”
Then the plane lurched to the left, and a sound like the crack of thunder rocked the plane, vibrated through her core. “Will, I can’t die today. I have to find my mother’s plane!”
* * *
Her words held some kind of meaning for him personally, but he couldn’t figure it out when their survival was on the line, so he tucked them inside his mind to pick apart later. He’d just reassured her he was a good pilot. He needed to live up to his word.
“You’ve been honest with me to a point, so I’ll be honest with you. I think the rifleman might have done some damage to the plane. It’s taken time to work its way through, and now we’re feeling the pain of it.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m a good pilot—a great pilot—but it never hurts to say your prayers. Get your affairs in order with God.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I wouldn’t kid you about something so serious.” He hated to scare her, but neither could he hide the gravity of the situation.
As he struggled to bring the vibrating plane in, to find a body of water on which to land, he thought back to his mother. Was this how she’d felt when her plane was going down? She’d been a great pilot, too. The best. And yet his mother’s plane was missing. It had to have crashed somewhere. What had Sylvie said about needing to find her mother’s plane? He couldn’t think about that now—he had to focus on keeping them alive.
A friend lived within hiking distance of the strip of water he aimed for. Even if they landed safely, Sylvie wouldn’t survive without some place warm to wait until help arrived.
The plane kicked, a rumble spilling through the fuselage. His gut tensed.
Though he struggled to grip the vibrating yoke, he reached over and pressed his hand over Sylvie’s white knuckles that squeezed the armrest. Surprising him, she released her grip and held his hand, strong and tight. Maybe it had nothing at all to do with reality but more to do with looking death straight in the eyes, but Will had a sense of connection with Sylvie Masters—a complete stranger—which made no sense.
God, please let me save Sylvie. Save the day. Like her, I want to find my mother’s plane. Find the answers. Then he understood what his mind could not comprehend earlier.
God had to have brought them together for this same purpose. They couldn’t die today.
“We’re going to be okay, Sylvie. Just keep praying.”
Her reply came out in an indistinguishable murmur. Indistinguishable but understandable, all the same. She fought to hold herself together. He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t want to release her hand, finding a comfort in her grip that he hadn’t known he needed, but he pulled away and gripped the yoke.
“There, see the water? That’s all I need for a smooth landing.” He thought of his mother again. That was all she would have needed, too. He’d long begun to suspect her plane hadn’t crashed where they could find debris, but had gone down and sunk to the bottom of the ocean, a channel somewhere, just waiting to be discovered like a shipwreck full of treasure.
The thought sickened him. His stomach pitched with the plane. Sylvie hunched over her knees, covered her head as if she was prepared to crash. As if her efforts would save her.
Will couldn’t be sure they would land on the water or that he could keep his word. Rain pelted the windshield, and as comfortable with flying as any bush pilot could be, he had to admit—but only to himself—this had been the ride of his life.
He piloted the plane forward and tried again to radio for help, but they were still in no-man’s-land.
“Sylvie?”
She mumbled. Groaned. Kept her head down.
“Promise me something.”
Another groan.
“Promise me you will fly again.”
“Are you crazy?”
At least he’d gotten a coherent response from her. “Promise me.”
“You mean if we survive?”
“Yes. I mean if I land this broken hull of a plane and we climb out of it in one piece.”
“If I say yes will you try harder to land?”
The crack in her desperate voice sent him tumbling.
“Sylvie, I couldn’t try any harder, but I thought I’d take the opportunity to extract a promise from you. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on seeing the world the way I see it.”
Sylvie stared at him, wide-eyed. “Why would you care how I see the world?”
Will couldn’t say why it was important to him, but in that instant, facing a one-of-a-kind death, he knew it was. He opened his mouth to reply but the plane shuddered and plummeted. Water swallowed them, then everything went black.
FOUR
Water rushed into the plane that had hit too hard. Sylvie fought the panic. Sucked in air hard and fast. Must. Slow. Breathing. Hyperventilating would do her no good. Passing out wasn’t an option. One of them had to get the two of them out.
With Will unconscious that would leave Sylvie.
Forget what she’d already been through. Survive. She had to survive—to reach down and find strength she didn’t know she had.
Water poured in.
The plane was sinking.
Sinking?
Sylvie had always thought floatplanes were, well, supposed to float. But then she remembered Jacques Cousteau’s son, also a diver, who died in a floatplane that crashed and sank.
Surely the pontoons would prevent it from completely submerging. Wasn’t that the whole purpose of pontoons on a floatplane? But that didn’t mean that Will wouldn’t drown in the meantime.
A small gash in his forehead bled. She unbuckled the strap, bracing herself for the rush forward into water that had quickly covered the controls.
Sylvie pressed a finger against Will’s neck, confirming he was still alive. She couldn’t accept anything less. Then she worked to unbuckle him from the shoulder harness, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Come on!” she yelled at the buckle.
What she wouldn’t give for her diver’s knife. It had to be in here somewhere. They were both fortunate her tanks hadn’t flown forward and cracked their heads during the impact.
“Will, come on, you need to wake up.”
The plane creaked and groaned. It would pitch completely over and upside down soon, and then Will’s head would be fully under water. They would both be. Sylvie searched his pockets.
There.
She found a pocketknife.
But before she set him free, she opened his door, left it hanging forward before the water pressure could seal it shut. More water rushed in at the bottom.
She was running out of time.
Quickly she sawed through his shoulder strap. Though she prepared to catch Will, his dead weight fell forward on her and smashed her against the dashboard, the yoke gouging into her back. The blow knocked the air from her lungs. She worked to push his head above the waterline.
Now to get him out. They were going to make it. She could do this. Sylvie slipped by him in the small space then tugged him out into the water. She’d swim him to shore, keeping his head high. This was lifeguard 101, and was actually much easier to do with an unconscious victim than one who was awake and struggling.
With regret, she left her diving equipment in the plane to save Will. She wouldn’t think ahead, wouldn’t concern herself with what to do, until she made it to shore. She positioned him on his back and hooked her arms under his armpits. On her back, she swam them to shore. She tried to keep her thoughts from what she might face—the immediate danger of exposure to the elements—and instead focused on what she could do. After all, two men had tried to kill her, and this seemed small in comparison.
She could swim.
Had been born with a natural affinity for water.
You’re in your element, Sylvie.
Just breathe. Swim. Save Will.
Regardless of her attempts at self-assurance, feeble though they were, fear twisted inside, corded in the sinews of her muscles. She hadn’t expected things to turn this way. Hadn’t expected to face death twice in one day.
Bad enough someone had tried to kill her. Worse, she’d almost died in a plane crash like her mother. Though she’d admit that Will’s plane—and Will himself—had saved her the first part of the day. And Will would be sick about the loss once he woke up.
He would wake up.
He had to wake up.
Her back scraped across pebbles and sand and rocks. Ignoring the pain, she dragged Will the rest of the way onto a small strip of sand. Sylvie examined his head then the rest of him. She could see no other injury besides the gash in his head that was no longer bleeding so profusely. Hopefully, it would stop soon. She had nothing with which to staunch the flow.
She could swim back and get a first-aid kit from the plane before it sank. Or her scuba equipment! But her body was too cold. It wouldn’t be safe. She might not make it back.
She held his face in her hands. “Will, can you hear me?”
He’d lost his ball cap in the melee, and his hair was thicker than she’d initially thought. He had a jutting chin on a nice strong jaw. She felt strange holding his face, touching him like this. It seemed entirely too intimate with someone who was practically a stranger, but this was a matter of life and death. She didn’t think he would care. She wished he would open his eyes—those warm brown eyes. Though she hadn’t appreciated his questions or his humor at first, the warmth in his tone had comforted her when she’d needed it.
“Will,” she whispered. “If you’ll wake up, I might just agree to fly again.”
But Will didn’t respond. The cold water hadn’t shocked him awake like she would have expected. It had shocked her system, though, and she was shivering even now. She released his face, hating that his color wasn’t good. Looking at the thick temperate rain forest behind her and across the water on the other side, she studied the mountains peaking above the treetops in the distance.
She knew enough about the geography to believe they were somewhere south, way south of Juneau. Far enough that it might as well have been a thousand miles. Sylvie dropped to where the water lapped and pressed her head into her knees.
Just what was she supposed to do now?
* * *
Cold prickles stung his face. Shivering, Will opened his eyes to raindrops bombarding him, along with what felt like an anvil pounding his temples.
Where am I?
His mind raced, competing with his pulse as he pushed up and caught sight of the woman sitting next to him, face pressed against her knees. Guilt tackled him. Though his mind was fuzzy, he somehow knew he’d failed her.
“Sylvie.” He reached over and pressed his hand against her arm. “Are you okay?”
Lifting her head, she turned to face him, her hazel eyes drawing him in. “Will, I’m so glad... I thought you were...”
Will couldn’t understand why she was still here. She was going to die if she didn’t get someplace warm. He would, too, for that matter. They’d both been soaked to the bone, and right now the temperature wasn’t much different on the ground than in the water. It was his fault she was here now. Somehow it was his fault. But his mind still struggled to understand.
Think, Will, think.
Then the all-too-fresh memories rolled over him. “How long have I been out?”
She lifted her shoulders as if called to action. “Not that long. The plane...” Sylvie looked out to the water.
Will followed her gaze. He stood, taking it all in. He’d nearly gotten them both killed. Something had gone wrong—something partly out of his hands, out of his control. But he should have improvised or adjusted. Why was that part still such a blur? He raked his arm across his eyes and forehead. It came away smeared with blood.