His hands tightened on the controls.It was probably a good thing he’d never had the option to rely on auto-pilot.
But the sense of hot pursuit had faded, leaving him with low reserves and a deep sense of frustration.
They weren’t just out of time, they were lost in time.
Rita woke with a jerk as the plane wobbled from side to side.She was already uncomfortable and sleep had been her only escape, so she wasn’t happy when the view wavered over her head, making her stomach waver, too.
If she could have, she’d have protested to Con.It was probably just as well she couldn’t tell him she hadn’t liked whatever had caused the wobble.She didn’t know much about flight and air currents and such.She just hoped it wouldn’t happen again.
She tried to settle back down, but sleep had fled.The sun hung low ahead of them.They were flying west, but had she slept the whole day away?
Not the whole day.They hadn’t taken flight until close to noon.But it still felt like this much time shouldn’t have passed.
How far could they fly on one tank of gas?
She did a gut check and thought she felt pity from it, as if it were saying, “Not even I can help you with this.We’re just staying here—if we can.”
At least her brain and her gut were united in not wanting to throw up.
She craned to look back, but she couldn’t see Con without unstrapping and that seemed like a bad idea when the plane wobbled again.
No wonder Henry’s wife hadn’t liked flying.
The nose seemed to tilt down, giving her a better view of the ground.Were they descending?Was that a clear stretch?If it was, she hoped it was better than the strip they’d lifted off from.
The plane angled slightly, so that it lined up with that bare line cut into the desert.
So much desert.
The ground suddenly began to rush toward her.She pushed back, her foot feeling for a brake that wasn’t there.The hair on the back of her neck rose as the plane aimed down.
She closed her eyes.Heard the wheels going through brush, then there was a bump, a bounce, and finally a jolt as they settled onto an uneven surface.
How did these bumpy strips earn the title of landing field?
Ahead she saw a hangar loom out of the dusk, a small building huddled next to it.
They rolled past it, then the plane turned—most likely with Con’s assistance—and they bounced and jolted until they stopped in front of the hangar.
She straightened, and fumbled for her straps.Even that tiny movement jerked a moan out of her.She had a bad feeling that actually standing up was going to be next-level painful.
She opted to postpone and peered around at a view that didn’t look that different from where they’d left—other than less light.Desert stretched out into the looming dark, seemingly without end.
She hadn’t asked Red where they were going, she realized now.Were they going somewhere or just away from where they’d been?
She found it hopeful that light was visible through the curtain-less windows of the smaller building.At least someone lived here.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been too long since their last meal.She still couldn’t quite believe how long she’d slept—without feeling at all rested.
She glanced at her watch, but the time meant nothing.A figure emerged from the building.The triangle of light from the open door gave her a peek at a room that looked more like a living room than an office.
The bubble moved back, letting in a rush of cooling evening air.She removed the ear muffs hanging them back on their peg and pulled herself up on legs that were as unhappy as she’d expected.She’d might have expected her butt to be happy at losing contact with the wood, but it was too busy adding to the pain signals flooding her brain.
This time she contained the groan by gritting her teeth.
She held onto the side, taking turns with stretching her legs as much as she could in the confined space.They didn’t like that either.And her bum was like, “don’t even talk to me, girl.”
“I’ll bet you’re stiff,” Red said.He’d climbed onto the wing and was holding out his hand to her.
