Assassin Territory [Assassins Book 1] Page 2

  Christy could detect the slightest hint of urgency in the man’s tone, he seemed agitated. His jaw clenched and unclenched. She felt goose bumps rise on her skin. She wondered what this prisoner could have done that the officer was in such a hurry to get him detained. From the looks of the powerfully built dark-haired man and his unnerving glance, she was certain she didn’t want to know. A cold feeling of foreboding ran icy fingers up her spine. She again resisted the urge to run from the plane.

  “Just keep his eyes front,” Sam grumbled with obvious annoyance.

  The officer gave a quick jab to his prisoner. “Cool it, Lando.”

  After offering Christy a smug, lascivious smile that made her cringe with apprehension, the dark-haired man turned with exaggerated slowness to face front, then settled back.

  “All right, everyone, seatbelts on and sit back. Remember to keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” Howard offered, though no one smiled at his lame attempt at a joke. “Whew, tough crowd.” He shook his head.

  Christy closed her eyes and gripped Sam’s arm. She hated takeoffs and landings. They seemed worse in smaller planes, though she knew Howard was a competent pilot. On their trip out he had been witty and kind. Their flight had been uneventful, if mildly turbulent.

  The engine revved and Christy felt the tingle on her ass through the seat. The somewhat uneven, grassy airstrip jolted them as the plane gained momentum; the numerous coniferous trees at the sidelines whisked by. With Howard’s practiced ease they were soon airborne. Christy gave a soft sigh once the aircraft evened out. When she opened her eyes the man—Lando, the officer had called him—was again staring at her. His dark eyes were the most intense she ever encountered. She noticed Sam’s dark glare as he locked his own angry gaze on the man, once again trying to divert his attention from Christy.

  “I said, cool it,” the officer snapped at his prisoner, and again gave him a good jab.

  Lando offered him a contemptuous look. “What the hell are they gonna do, open the door and ask me to leave?”

  “I got two parachutes,” Howard said with a wide grin.

  Christy watched as Lando narrowed his unnerving eyes, assessing the pilot. She could see his grudging respect for the scrappy little man. It was apparent Howard wouldn’t take any of the man’s nonsense. The feeling was a comfort. She could see Lando’s annoyance as he settled back, and she gave a sigh of relief when he closed his eyes, apparently deciding to drop the issue.

  * * * *

  Christy woke with her head on Sam’s shoulder. She sensed she hadn’t been asleep very long. After Lando decided to leave her alone, she’d thought her situation through. Sam would never hurt her; he wouldn’t allow anyone else to hurt her. There wasn’t a single time in her life a police officer hurt her, and Howard was a sweet man. With Lando settled she relaxed, then gave in to her well-deserved weariness. Now fully awake, she yawned, and then realized she felt a bit of discomfort.

  It had been a busy and exciting week. Neither she nor Sam really had time to stop for a decent meal and her tummy growled, embarrassingly loud. She looked up as Lando shifted in his seat to once again gaze at her. Christy felt the blush creep over her throat and face. Lando lifted an amused eye, determining where the sound originated from, and once more faced front.

  “Hungry?” Sam asked.

  “Starving,” she replied, her head nodding in enthusiastic confirmation. Sam laughed and she could just see his thoughts. Now who was being melodramatic?

  “Once we get to the airport, I know of a little restaurant where we can go. It’s like a bed and breakfast. Mrs. Jones makes the best spaghetti and meatballs you’ve ever tasted. She bakes her own garlic bread from scratch and heaps on gooey, melted mozzarella. That, coupled with her fine handpicked wines made from her vineyard. She grinds the fresh Parmesan onto your food right at the table, and her handmade Caesar salad has garlic-roasted, home-baked croutons, with warm, crisp-cooked, thick slices of maple bacon that just melt in your…”

  “Sam,” Christy whined. “You’re not helping.” She was mortified when her tummy once again rumbled out a loud, angry protest.

  Sam chuckled and offered a soft apology. “I’ll feed you when we land,” he modified.

  “Thanks,” Christy mumbled.

  “Sounds good though,” Christy heard Lando mutter.

  “Yeah,” the officer wistfully concurred. “Sorry, Lando, you and I have a date with a vending machine,” he said, abrupt, then added grouchily, “I’ll be happy to deliver you to the proper authorities. I want to go home to my beautiful fiancée, whom I haven’t seen in well over a month.”

  “I should charge you with cruel and unusual punishment,” Lando commented, with obvious annoyance. Christy could see his deep scowl of distaste as the men continued to bicker.

  “Although the vending machine will be a relief from soggy wieners, rock hard beans and burnt macaroni. Christ, does your fiancée realize what a horrible cook you are?”

  “Just be grateful you’re still alive,” the officer replied, his lips settled into a fine, grim line.

  Lando snorted at him and scoffed, “If my people found us, we both know who’d stand a better chance of survival.” The officer colored brightly.

  “So just what is it you did, son?” Howard asked.

  Christy had been wondering the same thing; their conversation was intriguing. Though the officer was fairly young, it was apparent he’d been chosen to stay with the prisoner because his own large stature almost matched the size of his charge. Even with Lando wearing handcuffs, she could sense he was dangerous as he flexed and un-flexed massive muscles. The only possible reason Howard would have agreed to take them on must be because he didn’t like the idea of leaving the young officer stranded at the secluded airstrip. It was just a small cabin, almost no amenities and an outhouse, with a somewhat bumpy field to take off on.

  Sam had mentioned this time of year the weather was unpredictable, volatile at times. She doubted Howard would want to chance flying back for them. From what Christy knew of Howard, as much as he liked to fly he prided himself with safety first.

  “I’m a hit man for the Mafia,” Lando replied, deadpan. He said this while his gaze locked on Christy.

  “Enough,” the officer bellowed.

  Christy felt the blood drain from her face. It was all too apparent the fearsome man wasn’t joking. Her eyes widened fearfully on the two men, who appeared on the verge of a verbal battle once more.

  “You jab at me again, you little prick, and I’ll send you out the window without a parachute,” Lando warned. The officer scowled darkly at him and Christy was amazed; it looked as though the officer stilled his hands from fear. Christy shuddered at the realization. What kind of brutality was this man capable of to frighten such a large, armed police officer?

  “Harmless, eh?” Howard commented casually to the officer. Christy was impressed as the small man, having witnessed the same scene, still remained undaunted.

  “We’ll be out of your hair soon enough,” the officer said. His gaze was drawn to his watch.

  “Not soon enough for me,” Christy muttered. She clamped her lips shut as Lando once again leveled an intense stare in her direction. Christy could feel the sensation of the hair on the back of her neck rising. The plane seemed to become more confined. She resisted the urge to bury her face in Sam’s chest.

  Instead, she lifted her chin and leveled a hard glare at the large arrogant man, hoping to stare him down.

  Lando narrowed his eyes, accepting the challenge, with obvious amusement. His almost black eyes bore into Christy’s until she was sorry for eliciting the confrontation. Lando’s gaze intensified until Christy’s defiant stare contorted with fearful concern. She hazarded a glance at the window, noting with trepidation she could fit through it a great deal easier than the officer.

  She lowered her gaze in defeat, sensing Lando’s satisfaction at her fear and his victory. She doubted she would make another comment like the last,
if she ever spoke again throughout the rest of the flight. Christy was out of her league. This man looked brutal, and she was no match for him.

  Christy jumped as Sam reached over to take her hand. She almost snatched her hand away at the sudden contact; she then blushed with deep embarrassment at having her fear found out. It was apparent Sam had witnessed their battle of wills. She knew he admired her spirit, but she also sensed he guessed who would prove to be victorious. They were only half an hour into their flight. Christy couldn’t help but feel a sense of panic. She felt a deep certainty this would be the longest hour and a half of her life.

  “Why don’t you try going back to sleep?” Sam suggested in a gentle tone.

  Like that would ever happen.

  She would likely wake screaming in terror. She could never fall asleep this close to a confessed killer. She would rather be closer to the Kodiak. No, she decided, the very last thing she needed was a nap.

  * * * *

  Not much time passed before Christy noted the dark clouds creeping in on them from over the horizon, billowing and ominous. She could hear a distinct rumbling over the roar of the engine. It didn’t help that Howard kept fiddling with his push talk button on the left hand yoke.

  “Blasted piece of junk,” he finally muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” the officer inquired.

  “Mountains interfering with my reception. Happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about, it’ll come back, it gets a bit cranky.”

  “He’s right, Christy. I’ve flown this route enough to know it’s happened before; everything will be fine,” Sam said offering a soothing touch to her arm.

  Christy felt her face pale as the flight progressed. Her fear had been increasing as the wind seemed to pick up and the small plane rocked and dipped at the turbulence. Her hand clutched at the touch Sam offered.

  “Don’t worry, honey. If we crash I’ll take good care of you,” Lando said to her, though his tone and meaning were anything but protective. His intent was clear as he looked her body over in a lingering fashion, Christy shuddered, frightened further. The storm was no less menacing than Lando. She shifted to lay her head on Sam’s shoulder in concern.

  “Hey, buddy, why don’t you shut up?” Sam snapped at him, wrapping a snug arm around Christy.

  “Let’s all just calm down. I want everyone to tighten their seatbelts, just as a precaution,” Howard interfered, his tone calm.

  Howard was having trouble controlling the plane as it dipped and rose; obviously, he didn’t want a brawl breaking out. Howard keyed his mic and spoke into his headset.

  “Flight center, Balter, come in please.” No response. “Flight center, Balter, this is November 701. Do you read? Talk to me.”

  The radio seemed to come to life and they all heard a broken, “Come in November 701.” More static. “This is November 321.”

  “What’s with the clouds? 701,” Howard asked and he peered through the window as though searching.

  “Storm…” came a static, broken reply for all to hear.

  “Say again?”

  “Storm…” once more a broken reply as the radio became worse.

  “I’m changing my heading to my alternate route,” Howard replied.

  Again an unintelligible response, then static.

  The plane shifted toward a new direction. Yet, what Howard hadn’t heard was critical. It was the storm that was changing its heading and he was to in fact remain on course. His new coordinates would take them directly into a raging bitter wind of icy sleet and rain.

  Chapter 2

  Christy hung onto her seat for dear life. The plane dipped and swayed, jerking their bodies about as the wind howled with intensity. They were thrown about like a child’s plaything. The sky darkened to a pitch black, except for the occasional brilliant flashes of lightning, giving them brief, terrifying glimpses of their dismal surroundings. Christy looked to Sam, seeking comfort, but what she saw in his petrified gaze was less than encouraging. He was as terrified as she was, his hands turning white at his powerful grip on the seat.

  Howard struggled to keep the plane on course, a struggle he was fast losing. The sleet was battering the wings mercilessly, the ice clinging and building into heavy sheets.

  “What’s happening?” the officer called over the noise of the storm.

  “Pitot might be frozen. Airspeed is all over the place. And the vacuum pump is probably pooched. I can’t control our altitude. Without visual hues in the horizon, I can’t tell if we’re flat and level or banked into a turn.” The engine roared. “God damn it, we’re plummeting in a deep bank.” All watched as Howard mightily tried to control the aircraft, he keyed his mic again.

  “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. 121.5. This is November 701. We are going down. Repeat, we are going down. Mayday Mayday Mayday. Fifty miles north of…”

  Howard never finished his sentence. The plane suddenly shifted on a severe updraft, swooped abruptly, and nosedived. Howard slammed forcefully sideways against the window, cracking the glass with the intensity of the sound blow. He slumped, his bloodied head falling forward onto his chest, his eyes now gazing sightlessly.

  Christy screamed in terror as the plane plummeted to the earth. Its memento gaining, an ominous rushing sound surrounded them, washing over them like a flowing current of terror.

  She clutched at Sam’s arm in horror, pulling at him frantically, seeking even a small measure of comfort, wanting him closer. All rational thought eluded her. She had fled from her abusive relationship in terror and now this. She was certain they were all going to die…

  * * * *

  “Take these off,” Lando demanded of his handcuffs to the officer. He held out his arms, thrusting the cuffs in his face. The officer stayed immobile for a moment, but Lando remained persistent until finally eliciting a response. The officer struggled to release him, fumbling with the small key as though in a daze, while the plane bumped and weaved. Lando grabbed the key with his fingers and managed to release himself.

  “Help me,” Lando yelled over the storm, springing to his feet, but none moved to offer aid. He struggled with Howard’s seatbelt in an attempt to move him away from the controls. The space was tight with Lando’s large build. He pulled the slight man’s body awkwardly sideways while battling the resistance of the shifting plane.

  Lando grabbed the controls and, with incredible strength, yanked at the yoke, but was unable to pull the nose of the plane up. Frantically, a thought came to mind about the parachutes Howard claimed were aboard, but he dismissed the idea. They would undoubtedly crash before he could find one, get into it, and open a door. Realizing there was no hope, the crash inevitable and there was no alternative to the unavoidable occurrence, Lando jumped into his vacated seat and snapped his seatbelt on.

  “Put your heads down, we’re gonna crash,” he yelled back behind him. Christy continued to scream in terror and Sam remained unmoving. “Heads down, now,” Lando bellowed out once again, his gaze locking with Sam’s terrified eyes. Sam blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a brief moment. Lando was about to howl out another command, but Sam grabbed Christy by the neck last moment and pushed down hard. Lando watched as Christy fought with him, now consumed with her fear. The large man threw most of his body over her, protectively pinning her with his somewhat larger bulky frame.

  The last image to capture Lando’s attention was a brief silhouette of the top of a very high, massive tree. The dark startling green flashed, then disappeared within a sheet of misty, hazy snow. He was correct in his assumption their downward spiral was close to an end. He braced himself and wrapped his arms around his head; he squeezed his eyes closed. The first horrendous jolt sent him into unconsciousness, and Christy’s screams of terror faded in the blackness.

  The small plane’s right wing slammed into the top of an enormous coniferous tree, sending the craft spinning sideways as the wing was ripped off like the sickening loss of a limb. Another battering ram pummeled the left wing, splintering it, in the unavoid
able collision. The remainder of the aircraft struck the ground with a heart-stopping jolt, flipped, struck, snapping the tail, then flipped once more to rest against an ancient tree trunk beyond. The behemoth, battered and damaged with old age, had suffered its last assault. With a painstaking slowness, as though loath to give up its final breath, the tree creaked, cracked, roots tore from the ground, its insides shattered, imploding, sending it to its final resting place…but it wouldn’t rest alone.

  Christy heard a horrendous crack from above her head; her body was jerked and pressed painfully double. Sam’s body weight increased; the pressure became unbearable, overwhelming, and then smothering. Christy gasped for air, struggling. Her screams turned to a strangled cry as she fought for her last breaths. The noise of the storm and her whimpers gradually faded in Christy’s ears as her breathing slowed to the point of being almost nonexistent. The black, evil cold that had surrounded her became soft, warm, white clouds with a gentle, enchanting breeze that encouraged a response with clear, sweet air; it stirred her.

  “Christy.” She heard a voice. It was faraway, dreamy in quality, and familiar.

  “Mom?” Christy called.

  “It’s all right, honey. Everything will be all right,” her mother soothed.

  Christy reached for her mother’s hand in an eager gesture, but her mother’s sweet features—shimmers on a pond—faded. The luminous, gentle light grew fainter and once more surrendered to the hideous, frightening darkness. The storm’s fearsome noises pounded out around her. Terror of the unknown enveloped her.

  “Mom?” Christy called again. But she was gone. “Mom. Mommm!” Christy screamed over and over until her breath escaped her. “Don’t leave me all alone again…don’t leave me,” she sobbed, her voice cracking.

  But she was all alone. Christy slipped into oblivion, giving up her fight, and allowed the darkness to take her this time.

  * * * *

  Christy woke in a daze. She could feel the icy rain beating down on her wet, frozen face. A cold, biting breeze ruffled her clothing, and she shuddered. “Mom?” Christy choked. Her throat was raw from screaming and she could barely make out her own pathetic cry. Her entire body throbbed in agony when she tried to move. No one answered. Realization dawned. She had been in a plane crash.