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I can’t help but smile. It feels strange to smile when I’m staring death in the face. “Sweetie, you could wear a bikini with twenty scars on your face. Trust me, that’s not what anyone is going to be looking at.”
He smiles again, that little dimple sends a shiver of desire down my spine. “I’ll keep that in mind when everyone is staring.”
We fall into conversation as we walk along the shoreline. He collects a pair of underwear and a shirt that had washed up on shore in the night.
“So, crashing planes, is this something you do often?” I ask lightheartedly.
“Nope, first time. I don’t think I want to do it again.”
“How long have you been flying?” I ask.
“I think the old folks would say since I was knee-high to a grasshopper,” he said with a small laugh. “My dad was a pilot. He did crop-dusting and, in the winter, he would go up to Alaska to run charters for hunters and trappers. He had a little Cessna, that he took me up all the time. Don’t tell my mom, but he used to let me take over the controls now and then. When I was sixteen, I started taking official flying lessons. I got my license, and the rest is history.”
“How long have you worked for the charter company?”
“A couple of years,” he answers, his tone shifting. “It’s my company.”
“What?” I gasp in shock.
“You don’t think a dude like me can own a charter company?”
“No, I mean, yes, but, well, you don’t strike me as someone that would own a jet like that,” I tell him.
“I don’t technically own the jet. I have a silent partner you could say. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out I crashed his fancy jet.”
“I’m sure you’re insured.”
“I am,” he nods. “But still, that’s going to be a headache to sort through. My license is going to be suspended while they figure out what happened. I’m going to be scrutinized. The maintenance logs are going to be gone over with a fine-tooth comb.”
I’m quiet, processing what it all means. “Assuming we get off this island,” I say quietly.
“I guess that’s the bright side,” he shrugs. “I’m not going to face an inquisition if I don’t make it off this rock.”
“That’s dark,” I reply.
"And what about you?" he asks, turning the question back on me. "Who are you? You must be somebody to get to ride on my jet—alone. I happen to know we’re not cheap."
I hesitate, unsure of how much to reveal. But in the end, I decide to be honest. "I'm a lawyer," I admit, my voice tinged with resignation. "I was on my way to Hawaii for a case. It was a last-minute thing."
He nods, a hint of understanding in his eyes. "Must be important," he remarks, his tone neutral.
I shrug, trying to brush off the weight of responsibility that hangs heavy on my shoulders. "It is what it is," I reply, my voice flat. The whistleblower is going to assume I blew him off.
“Do you work for a bi rim?”
“I do,” I nod.
“Then they’ll be looking for you,” he says.
I don’t know if they will. “I hope so.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his body. “We’ll be fine. We’re going to be okay. We’ll ration the water. And look over there.”
“What?” I ask, hoping to see a plane or boat.
“Clouds. It’s going to rain. We’ll have to fashion something to catch the rainwater.”
“You’re serious?” I ask in disbelief.
