Tailspin (2 page)

TWO

F
ear drove her past the pain of her injuries, through the shock of it all. Sylvie pushed her body because her life depended on it. Grateful for the diving boots she'd worn under her fins to protect her feet, she ran from another madman, this one holding a high-powered rifle instead of a diver's knife.

If she could just make it to the water.

Again.

Hard to believe she'd escaped the crazy diver beneath the surface only to face off with another dangerous man. This wasn't some random meeting, but an elaborate plan to assure her death.

She could almost laugh at their efforts—how hard had they believed she would be to kill?

Her legs screamed, and she stopped to lean against a Sitka spruce, catching her breath. The dry suit hadn't been designed for running.

At first she'd thought the plane was just another part of the plan. A diver. A man with a rifle. Why not a floatplane to attack her in some other, horrible way? But then the man who'd been there to give her an unfriendly welcome as she dragged her body from the water onto the rocky shore had taken a few shots at it.

Providence had sent someone to save her in the most inappropriate manner. God had a sense of humor. Why couldn't it be another boat? Why not the Coast Guard? She would never fly unless she had no choice.

But then Sylvie had never needed saving before.

And now that floatplane that had flown low and deep to find her running, and had made waves for her would-be killers, meant everything to her. She assumed the plane waited just beyond the trees. She'd seen that much—but unfortunately that meant the rifleman had seen it, as well.

Breathing hard and fast, Sylvie pushed through the wildness of this uninhabited land, brushing past thick and lush sword ferns and alongside a thorny undergrowth that shredded her dry suit. Through the trees she could make out the water.

She continued on to the water's edge and searched for the plane. Down from her a few hundred yards, the plane waited. The whir of the props echoed across the water. Her stomach lurched. Would he leave before she could get there? How could she signal him to wait? Draw his attention without giving away her position?

God, please let him wait for me! Help me!

It was too far for her to quickly traverse the thick brush and rocky shore, but there was another way. Sylvie rushed into the water and dove beneath the surface, quickly reminded of the brush against the coral during her struggle with the mad diver. Her dry suit no longer protected her from the cold water that seeped in, icing across her skin and into her bones, it seemed, slowly stealing her body heat away.

Hypothermia would set in soon. Never mind her aching joints that brought to her attention another problem. Sylvie was too experienced to ignore the symptoms or write them off as the shock of nearly being brutally murdered.

No. She had to face the truth.

She had the bends. Decompression sickness.

But she had to keep it together until she made it to the plane. Holding her breath, she swam just under the water's surface to keep out of sight. Without her mask, her eyes burned in the salty water as she remained vigilant in watching for the boat and the man with the rifle. She prayed the other diver wasn't right behind her.

The flash of an image rushed at her—the diver's knife, glinting in the water as he cut her hose. Shivering, she tossed a quick look into the depths behind and beneath her. She had to be sure the diver wasn't closing in. At least she was safe for the moment. Head bobbing to the surface for a quick breath, she continued to swim, her limbs growing sluggish.

She drew near to the plane.

Almost there.

The pilot scrambled from the plane and onto the beach, brandishing a weapon. Her pulse quickened. Could that be for her?
God, please let him be friendly. Please let him be someone here to help me.
She didn't know what she would do otherwise.

Dizziness swept over her, swirling through her core with the shock of the last few minutes.

But Sylvie was strong. She couldn't have excelled in her career as a diving instructor if she wasn't.

Then she heard it.

The echoing fire from a rifle. Sylvie ducked under the water. Had the rifleman seen her? Was he firing at her now in the water? Or at the pilot?

She was cold and numb and drained. Wasn't sure she could breach the surface again. She heard the rumble of the floatplane before she found the energy to bob above the water's surface and see it moving.

Disappointment weighed her down into the depths.

The rifleman was shooting at her rescuer. If he'd come to help, he'd been scared away. Sylvie fought the desire to give up, to sink and keep on sinking. Anger burned in her chest along with the need for air.

No, God!
Her life couldn't end like this.

Like her mother, Sylvie was a fighter, and she'd find a way to survive this. There were a million reasons to live, not the least of which was that she had to discover what had happened to her mother's plane.

She had to be strong.

She'd always believed it was her faith in God that would see her through. But with nitrogen bubbles coursing through her blood, hypothermia threatening to sink and drown her, and men who were trying to kill her, Sylvie struggled to trust God to see her through. How much could she trust Him? How much did she do on her own?

Right now she had never felt more alone. Had never had to draw on her own strength, or even on her faith in God, in this way before.

Like her dry suit, her faith and strength failed her.

* * *

Will couldn't leave without the woman. Neither could he stay with a man taking shots at him and his plane. He'd landed here because she'd been running in this direction. Now where was she?

In his Champ, he skipped across the water's surface, searching and praying. If he saw nothing, he would circle the island and come back to this spot, but he needed to draw the rifleman away from her. She could be hiding in the woods and afraid to run for the plane.

There!

The woman breached the water and waved, not twenty-five yards from him. If he hadn't been looking in the right direction at that exact moment, he might have missed her. Now to get her out of here without getting either of them killed. He slowed the plane, guided it close...closer...until he was as close as he could get without risking harm to her.

“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

“W
ill. 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.