Rocky Mountain Sabotage

She drew in a deep, pine-laden breath and examined herself. Glass littered her short-sleeved, pullover top and jeans, and glinted in the sunlight beating through the shattered windshield. Scratches on the bare forearms that had protected her head oozed small beads of blood, but the injuries weren’t serious.

Lauren shivered. The sun had power, and yet she was chilled. If she had to guess, the temperature was somewhere in the fifties Fahrenheit. A stiff breeze whimpered through the cockpit.

Cockpit!

She stiffened, muscles grumbling at the sudden movement. She’d been in an airplane crash. Where were they? Clearly, on the ground somewhere in the mountains. Dusty greenish landscape stretched in front of her, punctuated by some brown, man-made looking structures in the distance. The whole vista was framed by dark cliff walls.

Had they crashed near a town? Was help on the way? Watery haze coated her vision, but she blinked it away. Nothing approaching human life or technology, like a car or ambulance or fire engine, raced toward them from the structures. Except for the tick of cooling machinery somewhere in the plane’s bowels and the lonely keen of the wind, silence reigned.

Was she the only survivor? Mom! A shudder ran through Lauren as her hands fumbled for the clip of the seat belt. The masculine groan came again. Gingerly, she turned her head to find Kent Garland slumped in his seat. Blood trickled from somewhere beneath the sable-brown hair just above his ear, but his eyes were open.

Amazement flooded her. Somehow this man had landed the plane. She had no recollection of the event, but that was not surprising in cases where someone was knocked unconscious.

“Help!” a male voice called weakly from the passenger area. Other voices began making unintelligible noises that communicated fear and pain. They all sounded masculine. Was her mother all right?

Garland grunted and lifted his head. His gaze clashed with Lauren’s. She sucked in a breath. A woman could float away in those cloud-gray depths.

“We’re down.” His lips stretched in a grimace. “Time for evac and damage assessment. You up to helping, Jade Eyes?”

His words were spoken with a teasing lilt, but a sharp pang streaked through Lauren, trampled quickly by anger. She swallowed the knee-jerk response. This man couldn’t know what he had said.

“Don’t call me that, Mr. Garland. My name is Lauren Carter.” She couldn’t help it if her tone was frosty.

“Okay, Lauren.” A smile twitched one side of the pilot’s mouth, but his gaze remained grave. “Call me Kent. Are you all right?”

“I—I think so.” She cleared her throat. “I’m a physician’s assistant. If you have a first-aid kit, I’ll do what I can to treat the injured.”

The pilot’s eyes widened. “That’s the first good news I’ve heard since...well, a while.” The barest hint of private pain flickered across his face, and then his expression went flat. “Let’s get to it.”

He threw off his seat belt and wriggled free of the forward control panel that had crumpled inward significantly, but not enough to trap him. “I seem to be in working order.” He stood tall and lifted one slacks-clad leg and then the other.

Lauren levered herself to her feet. Other than adrenaline-withdrawal tremors flowing through her body and perhaps bruises she would feel more intensely later on, she seemed to be in working order as well. Except maybe for that bump on her head. She touched her fingertips to a throbbing goose egg on the crown of her head. The skin didn’t appear to be broken. Judging from the momentary loss of consciousness, she probably had some level of concussion. Hopefully mild. She needed to be able to function.

“Mom!” she called out. No answer and no tawny-gray head popped up anywhere above the seats.

Lauren pressed forward, but the pilot stepped in front of her just as a bulky executive lunged to his feet and lumbered toward them, head down like a charging rhino.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Hysteria edged the man’s tone. “We’re going to blow up!”

More passengers began struggling to their feet, echoing the terrified thought.

“Hold it!” Kent’s authoritative voice sliced through the panic. “We are down safe, and we are not going to blow up. Stay in your seats. When it comes to evacuation, we’ll do it together. Let’s get our bearings first.”

The panicked rhino plunged to a stop, chest heaving.

“How do you know we’re not going to explode?” cried another passenger, voice high and tight.

“Simple. It takes fuel to fire an explosion. We don’t have any.”

Lauren bit her lower lip. That explained the necessity of a crash landing, but not what blew up and caused the fuel dump and the instrument/radio failure. That was something she wanted an answer for ASAP, but not while people were teetering on the verge of hysteria.

At the rear of the plane, a blistering tirade of profanity burst from one of the three Peerless One brokers. He was standing tall, holding his cell phone toward the ceiling, shaking it and cursing it.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” Kent asked briskly.

“No cell service, that’s what.” The pit-bull-faced man scowled like a juicy steak had just been ripped from his jaws. “I was meeting with an important client tonight, and now I can’t let him know our incompetent pilot has crashed this tin can you call a plane. I’ll lose the account!”

“Get a grip, Dirk,” said one of the other Peerless One executives. “It’s amazing that we’re alive.”

Still scowling, the man named Dirk plopped back into his seat and silence fell, except for a few sniffles and groans.

Lauren gazed around Kent’s shoulders, searching for her mother. Anxious faces stared back at her above freshly rumpled three-piece suits. The elder statesman of the group was stirring and coming around to consciousness. But the spot where her mother had sat appeared to be empty. Of course, a seatback largely blocked her view.

Lauren’s heart sought to pump out of her chest. “Where’s my mother?”

Kent began moving up the aisle, nudging personal items under seats with his foot. “I’ll look for her. Not much room to go very far. Would you please check on my copilot?”

Lauren’s breath snagged. She’d forgotten about the critically injured woman. What kind of a physician’s assistant was she? Apparently, the kind that was a daughter first.

She stepped into the first set of seats, bent over the slumped woman and felt for a pulse. It was there, ragged and faint, but at least Mags was alive. Gently, Lauren lowered the seat back as far as it would go and padded each side of the woman’s head with one of those little airliner pillows. That should give the injured woman some support for her back and neck. Moving her could be tricky if she had a spinal injury.

“What is Mags’s status?” Kent’s voice called back to her.

“I would say concussion—probably severe—but the bleeding on the external head wound appears to have stopped. I’ll take a closer look in the near future and suture the cut, if necessary, but that’s about the extent of what I can do without expert diagnostic equipment. If she has a subdural hematoma—a brain bleed—she will need surgery, and I can’t... I’m not...”

Lauren inhaled sharply against a surge of frustration. A subdural hematoma was life-threatening. There certainly was no X-ray machine or other diagnostic equipment around here, much less any surgical tools with which to perform a craniotomy, even if she were qualified to perform one, which a PA-C was not. They needed expert help. Fast!

“Just do your best,” Kent responded. “That’s all any of us can do. Your mom’s right here!”

Kent’s call brought Lauren’s head up. Her mother’s pixie face peeped around her seat, pale but composed.

Mom flapped a hand. “Sorry, dear. I guess I passed out.”

Lauren grabbed for the support of a seatback. Now she could testify it was no cliché that knees did go weak when major relief hit. “It’s okay, Mom. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Just my pride...I think. Well, no. I’m pretty sure that seat belt gave the old college try at cutting me in half. My tummy hurts, but I’m sure it will pass.”

Lauren didn’t like the sound of that. Mom could have anything from a ruptured spleen to kidney damage. Or maybe just some bruising and tissue abrasions, but that was best-case scenario. And again, there didn’t seem to be any emergency facilities nearby. Perhaps no life at all. She gazed over her shoulder through the shattered windshield and scanned the barren landscape beyond. If that was a town out there, it appeared to be deserted. Hopefully, appearances were deceiving.

She turned toward Kent, who eyed her from the rear of the plane. “Are we going to get people as comfortable as possible here, or could some help be available in that nearby town?”

Garland exhaled a brief chuckle. “I’m fairly certain no one is home in whatever is left of that old mining burg, but I’m going to go check it out. If there’s decent shelter or any kind of supplies, we might move in there until help arrives.”

Voices streamed questions about who might be coming to rescue them and when and how, but the pilot lifted a silencing hand. “All unknowns at this point. I’ll go check out the town while you allow our resident PA to check out your injuries.” He nodded toward Lauren. “The first-aid kit is in the galley.”

“What about your head wound?” Lauren asked. “I should look at that before you go hiking.”

Striding up the aisle toward her, Kent shrugged a shoulder. “Just a nick from flying glass. Look after these fine folks first.” He brushed past her, opened a bin, and pulled out a leather bomber jacket that looked like it had seen better days.

Lauren pressed her lips together. Stubborn macho man. So not her type. Then why did her pulse speed up as he shrugged the coat over broad shoulders?

Frowning, he turned his attention to the main exit behind the cockpit. The door panel looked like an accordion. Fat chance it would open. Lauren’s insides curdled. The way the body of the plane was twisted and bent, how stable was it? Could something give way at any time?

Kent sent her a sidelong look, as if he’d heard her thoughts, and headed back down the aisle. “I’m going to use the emergency exit over the wing.”

With practiced movements, he pulled out the panel and leaned it up against a sidewall.

“One of you fit this back in after I hop out.”

Kent glanced around the cabin, gaze lighting briefly on Lauren. His face was an impassive mask, but in his eyes lurked a grim shadow. Then he hauled himself through the opening.

A chill wind blew through the cabin, and a couple of the executives hopped up and hastily stuffed the door panel back into the opening. The pilot’s disappearance triggered a burst of complaints from the passengers about the cold and demands that Lauren take a look at them immediately. Everyone claimed to have one pitiful condition or another.

“I’ll get to all of you,” Lauren said firmly, “but first I’m going to do a little triage and see who is most critically injured, other than the copilot, who is as comfortable as I can make her at the moment.”

The only executive not trying to whine himself to the head of the line was the elderly one who had finally come fully awake. He gazed around quietly, rubbing the back of his head, and looking thoroughly unhappy.

Her mother smiled and shrugged. “You can see me last, dear. I’m all right.”

The others might be high-powered wheeler-dealers who lived each day on the rush of stock trades and business deals, but actual physical danger or discomfort rendered them dependent children. Sighing, Lauren hunted up the first-aid kit.

What was that pilot not telling them? He had said nothing about contacting the outside world. He sure hadn’t indicated rescue was imminent. His instrument panel was dead. The radio, too. Surely, he’d filed a flight plan before they’d taken off. When the aircraft didn’t arrive at its destination, search parties would look for them. Right? They would be found. Lauren’s gut tightened. But what if they weren’t?

* * *

Insides hollow, Kent stood on the ground and surveyed the remains of his business jet. This narrow valley was sure no landing strip. As soon as he’d hit ground, rocks and potholes and the odd pine sapling that he couldn’t avoid had begun doing things to his plane that never should be done to fine machinery.

He’d slewed once so badly that his left wing gouged the earth, and they’d done a doughnut before finally straightening out. A good chunk of wing tip remained embedded in the ground somewhere along his landing path. And the landing gear was chewed up but good. The forward wheel was missing entirely, and the rear two were in shreds. The twisted body of the plane rested mostly on bare metal struts. Those were only the most obvious structural issues.

His jaw clenched against a sting in the back of his eyes. His jet was less than a year old. A real beaut! His pride and joy. Every nickel he had in the world was tied up in his baby, and now look at her!

Kent cleared his throat and inhaled a deep breath. At least he and his passengers had survived the crazy descent and landing. He should be thanking God, not wallowing in angst. Besides which, he had a mystery to solve. What happened to bring them down in the first place?

“I’d like to be the first to thank you for getting us on the ground safely.”

Lauren’s voice drew his attention, and he lifted his head. She stood framed in the broken window of the cockpit, hugging the first-aid kit to her chest. Kent’s pulse rate skipped into overdrive. She looked vulnerable and tense, but calm and determined and...well, flat gorgeous. Wavy strands of auburn hair had come loose from her thick ponytail and framed a heart-shaped face. The strong chin and elegant, aquiline nose suggested the courage she’d already displayed, but the soft curves of her full mouth and delicately shaped eyebrows lent appealing femininity.

“Earth to Kent.” Her small, teasing smile sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

He blinked and threw off the fascination. What was the matter with him, anyway? Must be the stress of the emergency landing.

“You’re most welcome,” he said. “Life or death is a great motivator.”

“That’s for sure.” Her gaze darkened. “I see you’re studying the plane. Any clues as to what brought us down?”

He shook his head. “Too soon to say.”

“So, you’re not certain it was sabotage?”

Kent narrowed his eyes. That was all he needed to ramp up the hysteria among the passengers—the suggestion that someone was out to get them. Even if someone might be. “Who mentioned anything like that?”

“You did.”

“No, I—” Kent shut his jaw and hauled a crisp, pine-rich breath through his nose. Maybe he had mumbled his thoughts out loud in the heat of the moment. “Look, let’s get everyone to whatever shelter we can find before we start assigning blame.”

“I’m not interested in blame.” Her tone had sharpened. “I’m interested in truth, and everyone on this aircraft has a right to know why we crash-landed in the Rockies instead of touching down smoothly in San Francisco.”

“I’m as interested in those answers as you are, but first things first.”

She offered him a cool nod. “But you’ll tell us when you know, right?”

“I’ll tell you what I find as soon as I find it as soon as I think it’s wise for everyone to know.”

“That’s too convoluted for me.” Her eyes shot green fire.

He waved and tromped toward the old mining town. Jade Eyes wasn’t happy with his non-answer, but there was no use promising something he wasn’t sure he could deliver. It was possible that he might not be able to nail down the cause by simply eyeballing the damage. Professional examination with diagnostic tools might be necessary. Then again, he might know in a heartbeat as soon as he got to the source of the damage. But even then, there might be facts he’d be prudent to keep under his hat until he could talk to the proper authorities.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, Kent hunched his shoulders against the bite of the wind sideswiping him. The jacket did a nice job of keeping his torso warm, but his neck and ears stung with the cold.

How was he going to transport eight people, some of them injured, the quarter mile or so from the plane to the dubious shelter of these old mining structures? But as sure as they were all still in the land of the living that was what would have to be done. Sooner, rather than later. The perforated metal tube that remained of his aircraft would turn mighty cold, mighty fast, especially when night fell, and the temps were likely to be in the forties or even the thirties. They were below the perpetual snowline here, and by the green yet showing in certain vegetation, a hard frost had not yet hit, but winter was closing in like a wolf after a rabbit.

Kent shuddered. He didn’t want to think about being stuck here in this barren patch of the Rockies long enough for winter to pounce. At least in town, they would have the option of lighting a fire—maybe they’d even find a potbellied stove to hunker around. The plane had skimmed over the top of a sparkling stream during their landing, and the water was likely potable; what they’d eat was another question. The rations aboard the plane weren’t all that plentiful—leftover chicken salad croissants and Caesar salad from the onboard lunch Mags had served, water, soft drinks and assorted bags of snacks. Yup. They’d eat well...until tomorrow.

At least he could be thankful for a medical practitioner among the passengers. Lauren Carter was sure a surprise—in more ways than one. Gutsy to the point of foolhardy. A bit prickly about certain things, like her proper name and direct answers when she asked a question, but if Mags survived, she’d owe Lauren big-time.

Magdalena Haven, a flight crew member from his US Air Force days, had been Kent’s copilot for the last six months. She was energetic and skilled. Not always the most upbeat person, but life couldn’t be easy for her, coping with her medical bills from last year’s car accident, not to mention her recent bitter divorce. And now his comrade-in-arms was injured again. He shook his head and said a prayer.

Trudging onward, Kent pushed away the image of Mags’s bloodied face. Lauren’s image sharpened in its place, and his gut twisted. Why did the woman have to be so attractive? Not just physically, but the courage and dependability she’d shown was...well, a lot more than he’d ever seen in Elspeth.

Elspeth with a p and most definitely not Elizabeth. His almost-mother-in-law’s lofty tones slithered through his mind, and Kent shuddered with an entirely different kind of cold than atmospheric conditions could produce. No, thank you. If Lauren was under the thumb of a domineering mother, any attraction he felt for her would never be explored.

What had Mrs. Barrington murmured to him as she boarded? Oh, yeah.

Marlin speaks highly of you, young man. You may notice that I am traveling with a very attractive, single daughter. We’ll be staying at the Ritz-Carlton.

Kent snorted. What a whopper! Marlin Barrington had his own personal jet that he flew around in. Only occasionally did the man’s firm charter additional transportation, and the senior executive was certainly not involved in the transaction. That sort of thing was done by an administrative assistant. Besides, Mags had taken the reservation. A Wall Street tycoon like Marlin Barrington wouldn’t know him from Adam, so how could he have an opinion about Kent’s character? If Mrs. Barrington was fishing that desperately for a catch for her daughter, there was no way he was going to rise to the bait. No matter how appealing that bait might be.

He slowed his stride as he reached the scattering of wooden structures. The first building was set a short way out from the others and had the look of a livery stable in the barn-like structure and the broken-down remains of a corral attached to one side. Maybe, just maybe, some type of wheeled vehicle might be found inside. Even a wheelbarrow would be better than nothing.

“Don’t hold your breath,” he muttered to himself as he pulled on the handle of one side of the stable’s double doors.

The handle came off in his hand. No! The entire door was coming down. With a yelp, Kent dodged the falling slab of wood. The door whumped to the ground, sending a puff of dirt into the windy air.

He coughed and shook his head. “Well, that’s one way to get a look inside.”

Kent stepped over the threshold into twilight. The air smelled musty, and dust motes danced in shafts of light squeezing through cleaner patches in dirt-coated window panes. It was significantly warmer in here than outside.

He moved further into the building. Rotting leather tack dangled from hooks here and there. Empty box stalls lined two sides of a wide aisle. Any hay or straw that was left behind had long since turned into piles of dust that swirled around on the residue of wind that invaded the place through the open door. A sneeze racked his body. If any of his passengers had allergies, this would not be the place for them to stay. He’d better check out some of the other buildings before he went back to the plane.

What was the bulky object in the far corner?

Kent hurried past the stalls. Here, a larger area must have housed buggies or wagons. Only one remained—an enclosed boxy contraption, narrow, with a high seat for the driver out front, but no doors in the sides. He walked around the wagon, pulling on each iron-shod wheel as he went. They seemed solid enough. Two lines of faded lettering graced each long side, but it was too dim inside the stable to read what they said. The entrance door to the interior of the carriage was in the back. Some kind of prison wagon? If so, where were the bars?

Shaking his head, he hefted the wooden beam to which a team of horses or oxen would have been attached and pulled. The axles let out a high screech but the wheels began to turn.

Kent’s heart lightened. He wouldn’t be able to transport everyone in the same load. Not enough room. Besides, he was strong, but he was no horse. Still, it shouldn’t take more than a few trips to get the people, as well as blankets, pillows, food, beverages and other useful items into town. Hopefully, his battered passengers would take comfort in small mercies.

Kent managed with little trouble to get the strange carriage out into the sunlight. He stood back to take a better look at his prize. Now he could easily read the words painted on the sides, faded as they were. His pulse stalled as their meaning slapped him in the jaw.

Property of Undertaker.

Trouble Creek, Nevada.

This wagon was going to be no comfort to anyone. No comfort at all.

THREE

“Young lady, my head is harder than most bowling balls.” The older executive glared up at Lauren from his cushy seat, age-spotted hands folded over his modest paunch. “I don’t need to be poked and prodded.”

“Sir, a concussion is all about the softness of your brain slamming around inside that bowling ball.” She frowned down at him. “I do need to perform some basic assessment.”

The edges of the curmudgeon’s lips curved upward. “Deftly done, young lady. I am put in my place.” The smile grew, revealing even rows of gleaming, white teeth. Dentures, no doubt, since his speech carried the slight slur that sometimes came with that territory. “Very well, you may shine your little flashlight into my pupils and confirm that they are equal in size and reactive.”

Lauren lifted her eyebrows. “You have medical training?”

“No, I just watched a lot of Dr. Kildare in my younger years.”

“Who?”

“Never mind, well before your time.” He removed thick-lensed glasses and stared up at her with shrewd, brown eyes.

Lauren scanned his pupils with the penlight she had found in the medical kit. “At least as far as this symptom of concussion, you have a clean bill of health, Mr... Ah.”

“Gleason. But you may call me Neil.”