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The renovations he dreamed about would cost millions. As in multiple millions.
But Jay would just smile and shrug and get that far-off look in his eyes as if he knew something she didn’t. Most likely, he didn’t want to admit that the whole airport renovation was a dream. A mental exercise to take his mind off the past.
But she saw no harm in him dreaming. Plus, she suspected he wanted a home for the rusted-out WWII fighter plane he’d inherited from their stepdad. The years had not been kind to the old Mustang. The P-51 only sported one wing, and that was glued on with rust and a prayer. The engine lay on the floor of the old hangar office. The second wing was propped up near the hangar door, like an unused crutch.
Jane was pretty sure her brother didn’t have the money to restore the thing, let alone the airfield. But he needed the dream.
He’d been a wreck when he limped back into town in a depression so deep she worried he’d never shake it. If a few old strips of asphalt and the wreck of a plane made him happy, she was all in.
Her headlights cut through the velvet darkness, illuminating the arid landscape. Once she turned off the highway the road narrowed to undivided blacktop. A single lane, a lane and a half if a person was feeling generous.
Eyes glowed in the beam of her lights: bobcats, raccoons and coyotes mostly. Night hunters.
She rolled down the window, breathing in the cold air. Spring brought a touch of green to the valley. The afternoon winds had died to a gentle breeze, wafting the scent of distant pines down off the mountains. If it weren’t for worry over Jason, she wouldn’t have a care in the world. Mostly.
No, she told herself, gripping the wheel tight. She didn’t have any other worries. Jason was her only concern now. Kellen wasn’t her concern anymore. She’d called Pete’s bluff on that one. On their marriage, too. So he’d taken her stepson and disappeared.
His legal right, but the facts didn’t ease her guilt. Maybe she should have given in to Pete’s demands. If she’d mortgaged the store for his “seed money,” he would have let her keep Kellen.
Or so he promised.
The ache of loss knifed her in the heart, even two years later. But she knew better. The only thing Pete kept his word about was not keeping his word. Once he got the money, he would have made other demands, each time holding Kellen over her head.
In the end, prayer had helped her see the situation for what it was: domestic blackmail. If Pete’s son was meant to be hers, the Lord would have shown her a way. In the meantime, she texted whenever she could, and savored the boy’s infrequent replies.
Knowing he was physically safe, at least, would have to do. For now.
She wrenched her mind away from her mess of a domestic life and pulled up next to the hulking hangar.
She stood outside the truck for a moment, purse over her shoulder, and waited. The last few gusts of the dying breeze brushed her cheeks. No other sounds. Just her and the creatures of the night.
The back of her neck prickled as she punched in Jason’s security code and opened the door. It should have squeaked. The hardware was older than the hinges on her doors at Valley Hardware, but Jason kept everything in top condition. No sagging doorjambs or sticking hinges for him.
She slipped inside, pausing a second before flipping on the massive overhead lights. Something wasn’t right. She had a strange feeling, as if the cold air had been disturbed.
Dusty footprints led from the doorway, crisscrossing the hangar in several directions.
Warning bells clanged in her mind. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and her breath came in short, sharp sips.
Something was definitely wrong.
Jason was a neat freak. The hangar might be old, but his equipment and tools were neatly arranged along the far wall opposite the hulking fifth wheel trailer he called home. He’d never leave the floor a mess.
She raised the phone higher, sending the beam farther into the space. A set of well-defined prints led into the old office. Someone had been there. Maybe they were still inside.
She plunged her other hand into her shoulder bag, smashing her fingertips on the hammer as she backed out of the building. She’d lock herself in the truck, start the engine, and dial 9-1-1 as she headed back down the road to a safe distance.
She had just slipped out the door when a hand latched onto her upper arm.
Before she could draw a breath, a voice murmured close to her ear. “I’m here to help. Don’t say a word.”
Adrenaline lit up every muscle in her body. She stomped down. Hard. And opened her mouth to yell.
But a hand covered her mouth as she was pulled against a hard body.
“There’s someone inside. Don’t scare him away,” the voice warned. “I’m a friend. I won’t hurt you.”
Deep, and definitely masculine, but neither angry nor frightened, the voice demanded to be obeyed.
