He didn’t want to think about what Mena thought of him right now. The quickness to which he resorted to taking out the threats, without any hesitation. The quickness he planned to unleash to eliminate the last threat against them.
But the look on her face eased away any concern that was building. He saw pure love in her eyes and a desperate hope that the challenges they’d faced were now behind them. He would do anything to protect her and keep her safe.
Julian leaned over and placed his lips against hers, savoring the soft sweetness of her mouth as he kissed her fully.
“Yeah, it’s over. When we land, we’ll call Kendrick and get the police to round up Quentin and Adam—”
Turbulence shook the plane, jolting Julian. He stumbled backward, struggling to maintain his balance.
“Julian, what’s happening?” Mena asked, reaching for him.
“Just stay here,” Julian said, picking up the assault rifle. “I’m going to go check on the pilot.”
Julian took a step toward the flight deck, then dropped to his knees as the plane lurched forward into a dangerously steep descent. What the hell was wrong with the pilot? Was he trying to crash the plane … on purpose? Glancing out the window, Julian could see land in the distance. Tropical islands dotting the water.
Struggling to stand, Julian rushed toward the cockpit, stepping over the dead co-pilot in the doorway and peered inside, his gun pointed toward the pilot seat.
Empty.
A surge of adrenaline spiked through his veins as he scanned the cockpit. Lights flashed across the instrument board and the control wheel shook wildly as the altimeter registered falling altitude.
Dropping the gun, Julian slid into the pilot’s seat and placed the headset on his head. He had to do something, anything to get the plane not to crash.
“There’s no other pilot?” Mena’s voice wafted from behind.
“Looks like I took out the one guy who was flying this plane,” Julian said, annoyed that he hadn’t checked earlier after he shot the pilot. He’d assumed that the Gulfstream was manned by two pilots like protocol. But this was far from a typical situation. Maniacs like Adam Russell and Quentin Tufa followed rules of their own design and weren’t concerned with safety standards.
Mena slid into the co-pilot chair, fumbling with the straps of the seat belt before locking herself in. “Have you ever flown a plane?”
“Never,” Julian said, a wisp of sadness in his tone that he hadn’t wanted to let out.
Mena grimaced, then reached her hand out toward his. “I love you, Julian. Thank you for—”
“Stop it. We’re not dying. Not today,” Julian said, squeezing her hand then bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss.
Julian pressed the VHF radio button and flipped the talk switch on the communication panel.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” Julian spoke into the headset.
The radio was silent.
“Are you sure it’s on?” Mena asked.
Julian checked the lights and switch again. “Can’t say for sure, but it looks like it.”
“Try again,” Mena encouraged.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday, we need immediate help to avoid a crash. Mayday, mayday, mayday,” Julian said, blood rushing in his ears as he waited for a response.
The radio crackled, then a voice filled the air. “N303GA St. Killian go ahead.”
“Pilot is incapacitated. Need help to land safely.”
“N303GA say last known location.”
“I don’t know. Took off from El Wak in Kenya,” Julian said, shifting in his seat. “Losing altitude steadily. Kind of nose-diving. How do I get level?”
“Squawk 7700 if you have a transponder.”
