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Claire sucked in a breath, pulling his gaze toward her. Confusion and desire battled in her eyes. She opened her mouth, but turned her head at the phone’s jingle, announcing it was ready. She waited a moment longer, then dialed 911.
“I want to report a fire at Harvest Bistro, 6522 Main Street… No, no one’s inside.” Her tight voice broke. “Please hurry.”
She hung up and immediately dialed again.
“Hank, it’s Kendall’s father, she was blackmailing him.”
While she gave her brother the details, Jake kept his eyes on the road as Dry Creek disappeared behind them. It was a straight shot to the airport. The SUV wasn’t built for speed, but it barreled down the highway like a rocket-powered tank. His headlights illuminated the idle sugar beet factory and closed big-box stores on either side of the highway. He glanced over at her alabaster skin lit up by the dashboard’s green light.
She waved her free hand in the air as she argued with Hank. “No, we are not waiting for you. The sheriff’s office is half an hour from the airport; by the time you get here he could be gone. We can’t take that risk. Just meet us there. Hurry!”
Unable to turn away from the stubborn set of her jaw, he didn’t realize the SUV had wandered onto the shoulder until the vehicle started to shake as he drove over the edge of the roadway. He yanked the steering wheel and got the SUV back on the highway. Adrenaline surged through his body as the vehicle fishtailed on the pavement. Both hands on the wheel, he regained control of the vehicle and his desperate thoughts in time to make the turn into the airport.
A few empty cars dotted the parking lot; among them was Burlington’s sedan. The single terminal was wrapped in darkness, but through the chain-link fence surrounding the airfield, he spotted a small white jet idling on the tarmac. Burlington.
“Wait here for Hank.” Jake flicked off the engine, shot out of the SUV and made a beeline toward the fence.
Burlington could fly away at any moment. Jake jumped onto the fence and started climbing. It swayed under his weight while he scrambled up. The jet engine purred in the background as he sailed over the top and dropped to the tarmac.
A second set of footsteps slapped the ground behind him and he spun around, ready to confront an attacker.
Claire stood barefoot on the inside of the fence. Grunting, she tugged at the hem of her dress.
“Stupid thing is caught.” She gave it a ferocious yank and the fabric tore free. Tumbling back, she came to a stop flat on her ass.
The rip in her dress extended up to her round hip. A flash of green thong caught his eye as she stood up and brushed herself off. Even in the midst of all this madness, his body responded with a lust that sucked the oxygen right out of his lungs and the blood from his brain.
“Stop staring at me like a dog eyeing a juicy steak.” She smacked him on the arm. “We have to figure out how to stop that plane.”
Hand-in-hand, they sprinted to a small wooden equipment shed. Peeling red paint flaked off onto Jake’s shirt as he leaned against the shed. Eyeballing the plane, he absentmindedly brushed the paint off onto a pile of crumbled paint chips that had accumulated like a snowdrift alongside the shed. Claire wiped away the dust caked on its lone window and pressed her face against the glass.
“How long until Hank and his deputies get here?” Jake whispered and slid his body closer to Claire’s, his muscles taut.
She pulled back from the window, dirt smudges darkening her nose and forehead. “At least twenty minutes. The sheriff’s office is on the other side of town.”
“No one was in the area?”
“This is Dry Creek, Jake. There are only three deputies on duty during the overnight shift and they’re all at headquarters for shift change. That’s why I told Hank we couldn’t wait for him.”
Jake grimaced and grasped for the inkling of a plan. It didn’t even have to be a great one, just good enough to keep Burlington from jetting off to Brazil.
Bracing himself for the worst, he risked another glance around the shed. About fifty feet long, the small jet idled with its steps extended out to the tarmac. No one stood in the gangway or behind one of the plane’s five windows. Desperation growing, he scanned the area near Burlington’s jet in a clockwise circle, weighing the possibilities of each item crossing his line of vision. A moveable staircase. Two closed airplane hangars. A bright yellow crop duster. Gas tankers parked beside each other at the far end. The glass doors to the terminal. A baggage car. Another equipment shed.
His body stiffened and he dragged his gaze back to the baggage car. Of course. Excitement pulsed through his body as he ducked his head back behind the shed. “There’s a baggage car. I can smash it into the plane’s staircase.”
“Are you nuts?” Claire’s voice cracked. “You want to play chicken with a jet?”
He swiped the grime from her nose with his thumb. “You got a better idea?”
She leaned forward and brushed an electric kiss across his lips. “No. But I know where the keys are.” With an impish grin, she pointed toward the window.
Sure enough, a set of keys hung from a hook under a hand-printed sticky note reading, baggage cart. Elated, he grabbed her hand and they snuck around the corner to the shed’s door. His body tense, prepared for an attack, he twisted the knob as he watched the jet. The door swung open and hit the wall with a thud.
They darted inside the shed’s gloomy interior lit only by the airport’s floodlights. The dust covering everything tickled Jake’s nose. Claire snatched the keys. The daredevil gleam in her eyes scared him down to his toes. He needed to get those keys quick before she decided she’d be the one to ram Burlington’s plane.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He held out his hand for the keys.
A shadow slunk across the wall beside Claire. Too late, Jake’s inner alarm bells clanged. Goose bumps popped up along his arms. The summer breeze changed direction and cigar smoke wafted into the shed.
