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Blane’s reply was curt. “I don’t want to be worried about you while also trying to keep myself alive. Do as I say.”
Her lips pressed together but she didn’t argue. Blane noted that he needed to find a medical kit. She’d stopped bleeding but the wound on her head needed to be disinfected.
He had to climb the wing to get to the nose and through the broken windshield. There wasn’t much wing left to climb and the nearby tree had to assist. He pulled himself through, glad he hadn’t neglected to keep in top physical shape regardless of the fact that the Navy was long behind him. Old habits die hard.
By the looks of the pilot, critters had taken advantage of the unexpected buffet. Blane had seen worse, so he took due note and moved on.
He didn’t want to be in the plane any longer than necessary. Who knew how quickly Smithson would send his team? And Blane had no weapon.
Wait.
Turning back, he grabbed the gun the pilot had used. He’d been stupid to leave it behind last night. But he’d also not been thinking clearly. Any more mistakes like that could spell the difference between life and death out here.
He found Anne’s backpack and unzipped it. Who knew what she’d brought with her and he didn’t want to wake up with a knife in his back. But all he found was a change of clothes, some toiletries, and a thick manila envelope. He stuffed everything back in and hit up the galley.
He balanced as if he were in a funhouse with the floor tilted to throw him off-balance. He loaded bottles of water and as many granola bars as the backpack would handle. It didn’t take much searching to find the medical kit. On impulse, he grabbed a couple of blankets that were stowed. Anne would need them. There were several knives used for cooking and he chose one with a long, thin blade. He lodged that in his belt at his side.
The last thing he found was a set of matches, which shouldn’t have even been on the plane, but he wasn’t going to spit in the eye of luck.
Bracing himself on the floor, he made his way back to the cockpit. At one point, the plane shifted and he had a brief moment of panic before it settled. Regardless, he moved slowly as he made his way back out. Anne was where he’d left her, now sitting on the forest floor as she waited.
“I got some supplies,” he said.
She got unsteadily to her feet and brushed the dirt and leaves from her jeans. Her hair had been in a tidy braid but was now in a bedraggled state. The shadows under her eyes looked like bruises and the blood from the cut on her head had dried to an ugly brown.
Blane stifled the urge to pull out the med kit. They needed to get away from this place as quickly as possible.
“Let’s go.” His voice was rougher than he intended, but she didn’t reply.
They began hiking back the way they’d come. Blane was relatively sure that direction led south which would be more populated than further north. The trees obscured the overcast sky, and it was only mildly warmer than it had been during the night. Anne followed him through the forest. There was little undergrowth this time of year, for which Blane was grateful.
He checked his watch. It was custom-made military-grade designed to withstand a direct hit and was waterproof. Checking the compass, he adjusted their direction slightly.
They’d been hiking for a little over an hour from the plane when Blane deemed it far enough to stop for a quick break. His gut was complaining and he was sure Anne’s was, too. Spotting a small clearing ahead, he headed for it and swung off the backpack. Digging in it, he pulled out two granola bars and water. He handed one of each to her without a word. She landed on the ground near where he crouched and tore into the bar.
They didn’t speak while they ate, and Anne avoided meeting Blane’s eyes. She was still in shock, trying to make sense of what had happened.
They’d crashed.
She’d survived an actual plane crash.
Seeing the plane had brought that fact home in a very real way. The wing had been torn nearly off. Debris littered the forest floor and trees broken in half from the impact. Anne had no idea how they’d survived.
Her hands began to shake uncontrollably and her eyes stung with unshed tears. She didn’t want to fall apart in front of Blane, the man she’d kidnapped and almost killed. She was darn lucky he hadn’t just left her behind. It took her a moment to get the water bottle open and took a trembling swallow, blinking her eyes rapidly.
She wasn’t used to feeling so helpless, so out of control.
“Let’s get that cut cleaned.”
Anne startled. She’d been so inside her own head that she hadn’t noticed he’d approached. Glancing down, she saw he was holding a first-aid kit.
He sat down next to her and opened the kit. Anne took a deep breath, trying to still the tremors.
“I’m fine,” she said stiffly. “It stopped bleeding.” She didn’t want him touching her. She’d trusted Smithson and he’d nearly killed them. Was she really that gullible? That poor a judge of character? And so desperate to find her brother’s killer? The guilt was a stone pit in the middle of her stomach.
Blane didn’t even look up. “It may get infected. It has to be cleaned.” The ice in his voice sent a chill through her.
Anne didn’t protest further as he matter-of-factly cleaned the cut. It burned something fierce, but she didn’t flinch and she didn’t look at him. After all she felt for Blane, she couldn’t believe she’d fallen for some far-fetched theory that he’d been behind Matt’s murder. The Blane she knew—the Blane who had saved her life more than once—couldn’t commit such a crime.
