The plane shook violently beneath her.

Gia leaned into the aisle. “Is that normal?” she yelled to the pilot of the small aircraft, her fingers digging into the armrests of her chair.

Beau glanced over his shoulder through the open door of the cockpit. He was fifty or so, greying hair and a solid physique. She’d met him a few hours ago at the small airport he worked from. He’d been kind to her, talking her through all her nervous questions. His kindness may have stemmed from Gia offering to pay him in cash up front, but she appreciated it all the same.

He gave her a reassuring smile and a thumbs up, but tension was visible even in his profile. He turned his eyes forward and fell silent. Neither of them were game to continue shouting over the rattling engine.

Wind buffeted the plane, making Gia’s stomach sink and whirl.

She sat back in her seat and tested her seatbelt for the hundredth time. Secure. Of course. Gia took a deep, steadying breath, willing herself to calm down. She wasn’t only nervous about the plane, though she’d never liked flying. Her nerves had been on edge for weeks. Years.

But it would all be over soon. Once this plane touched down on the other side of these mountains, she could disappear. She’d leave her life behind and start over.

She loosened her fingers from their grip on the armrest, stretching the cramps. Her eyes were drawn to the backpack on the seat beside her. Inside was her ticket to a new life.

Her carry-on suitcase was under the seat across the aisle. Her handbag—designer, probably worth more than a man like Beau made in a year—was stored under the seat in front of her. It held next to nothing inside. She’d ditched her phone, IDs, and every other connection to her old life when she’d fled that morning. She couldn’t risk Ray finding her.

But the backpack—the casual bag so out of place with her silk dress and expensive heels—she couldn’t let out of her reach. She’d risked everything for it, and she wouldn’t let it all be for nothing now. Everything else she could live without.

The plane rattled again, and Gia’s heart jumped in panic. To calm herself, she estimated the steps she’d need to get to the door. Five, most likely. Though that wouldn’t help if she was dead.

She’d never liked flying much, but small planes frightened her the most. They appeared so vulnerable, like a strong gust of wind could send them tumbling from the sky. If she hadn’t been desperate to get out of the city as fast as possible, she never would have stepped onto the plane.

The plane dipped and shuddered.

Gia clutched the armrests until her knuckles went white. She’d be okay. She’d been through too much for it all to go wrong now.

But the plane didn’t right itself. It kept dipping, until its nose pointed at the ground.

“Beau?” she yelled, unwilling to distract him, but panic clawed at her. She needed to know this was normal.

But he didn’t reassure her. “Brace yourself,” he called to her, before focusing back on the window ahead of him. Below them was a landscape of snow-capped mountains and trees. Beautiful, certainly. Deadly? Probably. Not a runway to be seen.

A whimper escaped Gia. Her body reacted before her mind did, folding her into the brace position against the seat in front of her. She remembered a documentary once saying the best brace position: arms crossed, one hand on each upper corner of the chair in front of her, head resting on top.

She planted her heels more firmly against the floor. Wait, it was bad to wear heels, wasn’t it? But she knew from experience it would take too long for her to unbuckle them, particularly if she was being jolted around in her seat. She had a memory of a flight attendant saying the reason not to wear heels was in case it punctured the emergency slide, not for any health reason, so Gia hoped she’d be okay. She planted her heels more firmly into the soft carpet and tensed. She should have worn sneakers when she’d fled.

Now she had no more tasks to distract herself from the plummeting plane. Wait, no. Not plummeting, exactly. Beau must have rightened it at least a little, because they were gliding. Downwards. Ever downwards.

No question, they were going to crash.

Gia squeezed her eyes shut as her head swam. If there was any time for her to panic, it was now, when all her worst fears about planes were coming true. But it wouldn’t help. The outcome was out of her control.

“It’ll be a bumpy landing,” Beau called.

The words took a second to penetrate, but when they did Gia held tightly to them. Landing. Not crashing.

If she survived this, she needed to take her essentials with her. Carefully, she eased herself out of brace position, fighting against the momentum of the plane and her own feelings of vulnerability.

She shoved her arms through the straps of the backpack so it settled against her stomach like a baby carrier. While her brain screamed at her not to look, her eyes didn’t follow directions. She glanced down the aisle, through the open door of the cockpit, and to the rapidly-approaching trees beyond.

Seconds until impact.

Gia threw herself into the crossed-arms brace position and tensed. The plane hit the trees with a sickening crunch.

Chaos, noise, and pain.

And then nothing at all.

 

Elijah started running the instant he caught sight of the plane through the trees. He knew it was in trouble before it slammed into the canopy, clearing a path as it hurtled towards the ground.

He dropped the rabbits he’d slung over his shoulder, abandoning good meat without a thought. Whoever was on that plane would need help.

If they survived.

He wasn’t close. It would take him a few hours to hike further up the mountain to reach them. But he’d still be closer than anyone else in the area.

The forest was shocked into silence. The violence of the plane crashing had sent the animals underground. Only his feet crunching on the thin layer of snow sounded in the quiet haven beneath the trees. He’d struggle to replace the hunt he’d lost, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it.

Finally, muscles and lungs burning from the punishing pace he’d set, Elijah reached the crash site. His concern hadn’t been misplaced.

A gash ripped through the side of the fuselage. On its way down, the front windshield had been speared through by a massive tree branch. The tail had snapped off.

But with the body of the plane mostly intact, there was still a chance of survivors.

Elijah’s instincts screamed at him to get inside the plane. But, he had to check around the outside, making sure there was no fuel leakage, or anything else that would endanger him when he got inside.

When he’d concluded it was clear, he strode over to the door, and stopped. He hadn’t been this close to a plane in a long time, not since he was a kid. He wasn’t sure how to open it from the outside and suspected he might hurt himself if he tried. He eyed the gash along the side. If he squeezed, he could get his big body through that. Unfortunately, it was head height. He didn’t want to haul himself up and risk dislodging the plane from where it hung precariously above the ground.

He was conscious—so conscious—the plane’s passengers were still inside, probably injured if they weren’t dead. Every second counted.

“Is anyone in there?” he called.

Silence.

He dragged a large tree branch over, his muscles straining, and maneuvered it into position. Now, the opening was at chest height, and his thick gloves protected him from the jagged edge as he grabbed it. Slowly, carefully, he squeezed inside.

The cabin looked almost normal—or what he guessed normal was. A few items had scattered around. Leaves and twigs had found their way inside, likely from whatever had torn the gash in the side. But it was secure from the worst of the elements.

Elijah glanced through the open cockpit door at the pilot. The large branch that had speared through the windshield had landed in the man’s chest. Even from where he stood, Elijah could tell he was dead.

Which left him focused on the only other person on board.

The woman was slumped in her seat, her dark hair curtained around her face. Her arms were bare—impractical clothing for the tail-end of winter—and hung lifelessly by her side. She was still, frighteningly so.

He knelt beside her and tugged off his gloves. He smoothed her hair back so it exposed her neck. Her skin was soft, a fact he shouldn’t have noticed. But he was struck by it as he pressed his fingers against her throat, searching for a pulse.

Steady, though not as strong as he’d like.

He breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Gently, he ran his fingers over the back of her neck. Her skin was cold from the wind creeping in, which was a concern. He couldn’t feel any injuries in her neck, but it was hard to tell. He had to risk it.

He braced her neck as best he could, then sat her upright. She moaned and shifted. A good sign. Hopefully she’d become alert soon. She had a bag strapped to her front, which must be important if she protected it at the expense of anything else. He eased it off her shoulders and set it aside.

Elijah searched for the button that would lean the chair and pressed it, pushing the seat back far enough so the woman wouldn’t fall forward again.

Then, he examined her.

Pretty.

But he wasn’t here for that. She had a nasty bump on her head, which likely was the reason she was unconscious. No blood, no other injuries he could see. Except maybe her left ankle was a little swollen, no surprise given the impractical heels she wore.

He knelt and unbuckled the delicate shoes with clumsy fingers.

Who was this woman? She certainly didn’t belong around here, in the cold and tough mountains. She must have been headed somewhere far away.

Elijah shook his head to clear it. Regardless of who she was, she needed help. He had three options. One, wait here with her until help arrived. Two, take her into town. Or three, take her back to his cabin.

If he waited here, Elijah wasn’t sure when—or if—help would arrive. He peered out the nearest window. Light snow was already falling, and night would descend in a few hours. Even if someone knew where this plane was, an unlikely possibility, then they probably wouldn’t risk sending out a rescue crew today. They’d wait until at least the next morning, probably longer if the weather worsened. And that was only if they knew this plane was missing and where to find it.

Town was a three-day walk from here. The woman was still unconscious, and Elijah knew despite his strength and size he’d have difficulty carrying her that far, particularly over the precarious bits. On the quickest path down the mountain there was more than one narrow ledge to shimmy down, and many steep slopes he’d overbalance on with a person in his arms.

Which left his cabin.

Elijah let out a shaky breath. The last time someone other than him had been in the cabin, it was his father nearly ten years ago, back when they’d lived there together. As far as Elijah could remember, no woman had ever set foot there.

Not that it made a difference. He had to help the woman. Even if it made him restless to imagine a woman, particularly one like this, in his domain. He couldn’t leave her behind.

So, he’d take her to his cabin. Just until she was well enough for him to walk her into town.

With a head injury, he wouldn’t want to risk hanging her upside down over his back in a fireman’s carry. And on the rocky terrain, he couldn’t carry her in front of him because it might mess with his balance, particularly on the snowy patches. If he fell, he’d make her injuries worse.

He’d have to make a litter. And fast, before it got too dark. It would be a long trek back to his cabin. The chair she was in would be too heavy to drag. But the fake wood paneling on the walls might do, if he padded them.

He needed supplies.

The cockpit had a bag Elijah assumed belonged to the pilot. He tried to ignore the body as he hunted through the duffel. He found a winter ski suit, plus some emergency gear—including duct tape. Perfect. He carried the bag over to the woman.

“Sorry,” he murmured, even though she couldn’t hear him.

He dressed her in the pilot’s winter gear as impersonally as he could, turning his head away as he pushed her dress up her thighs and pulled the pants over her. Every time his fingers touched her bare skin a jolt passed through him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. On the long and lonely nights when he’d imagined touching a woman, he’d be undressing her, not covering her from head to toe.

The suit was much too big for her, but it would have to do.

He also pulled the pilot’s spare socks and shoes onto her feet, tying the left boot tighter to support her ankle. She groaned when he did, and he winced in sympathy at her pain. But it was necessary until she could ice and elevate it.

That done, he turned away from the woman and the unsettling sensations she inspired in him and got to work on the litter. He put his gloves back on to tear the paneling off the wall. One of the pieces curved with the plane, making it a perfect headpiece to keep as much snow and dirt off her as possible while he dragged her.

He duct taped the rest of the panels together, padded it with foam he sliced from the chairs, and then attached the rope he used on his snares so it would loop over his shoulders. He tested it, finally believing it solid enough.

Then, he stepped over to the aircraft’s door. Thankfully, this side had instructions on how to open it, which he did before lowering the stairs. He carried his makeshift litter down and set it on the ground outside, then returned for the woman. Before he took her into the cold, he had to decide what to take with him.

The woman’s purse was  empty, so he left that behind. He found her luggage and threw open the case. Some clothes—none warmer than what she wore—were hastily folded inside. No use to her out here. He dug deeper, then retracted his hand when he encountered lace and frills. Underwear. Again, totally impractical. But to see a woman—one who looked like her—in such a frivolous item of clothing…the idea was a punch to his gut.

He pocketed the items for her, face burning, knowing he had nothing in his cabin acceptable for someone of her size. He left the rest behind. Then, he turned to study her. She’d shifted in the chair, which was good. She was at least somewhat aware of her surroundings. But he didn’t want her to wake too much, or she’d have a much worse time in the litter. Healing sleep was what she needed. Best she stay that way until he had her warm and safe.

He lifted her into his arms. So light. So vulnerable. Even in the oversized, padded ski suit.

Elijah pulled her closer to her chest and the scent of flowers hit him. Christ, he needed to get ahold of himself.

He stepped out of the plane and placed her on the litter, then hesitated. Sighing, he went back inside for the bag she’d been wearing. He hesitated. Before he dragged it all the way back to his cabin, he had to know if it was worth the effort. He unzipped the bag, and nearly dropped it the second he saw what was inside.

Money. Lots of it. More than he’d ever seen in his life.

What was this woman doing with so much cash?

Whatever it was, Elijah assumed it wouldn’t be good.

But that didn’t mean she deserved to be left out here. And as much as he didn’t trust money—a holdover from his father’s distrust of anything from the government—he was smart enough not to leave that behind, either.

The money told him he couldn’t trust this woman. He was sure the world wouldn’t have changed so much since he’d left it that normal people—instead of criminals—carried around hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash. When she woke up, he’d have to be wary of her. But at least he had nothing worth stealing at his cabin.

He eyed her for a long moment. She was so beautiful, even in sleep, he wanted to believe she was honest. But that was just his loneliness talking. Attractiveness did not equate to goodness.

He taped the backpack to the woman, and the woman to the litter to hold her still. He kept the duct tape for any repairs, shouldered his makeshift harness, and set off on the long, tiring journey to home.