Page 3 of Risky Passion

The controls rattled in my hands and the entire plane vibrated from failing hydraulic pressure. Gunfire hammered the cabin. A line of holes stitched across the instrument panel and punched through the roof.

"Oh fuck!"

Warning lights flashed across the dashboard as I wrestled with the unresponsive controls. The plane bucked and groaned under the relentless assault.

Panic clawed at me as I snatched up the microphone. “Mayday! Mayday! This is Border Force Delta-Seven-Four, takingfire from suspect vessel. Port engine compromised. Initiating emergency landing. Do you read, over?"

As I gripped the microphone, the leading edge on my ravaged left wing tore open, exposing the metal skeleton like a fractured bone.

“Oh God. No! This can’t be happening.”

I tightened my grip on the yoke. "Stay with me, Lady. We haven’t landed yet." I called into the radio again. “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Can anyone hear me?”

Static hissed through the speaker. I glanced at the radio. But it was shot to shit.

As the plane plunged from the sky, I doubted anyone had heard my Mayday call.

CHAPTER2

Jaxson

At the backof the long-abandoned Angelsong Orphanage, I squatted to study the tiny yellow skull I’d just unearthed in the overgrown back paddock.

Another unmarked grave. Another child victim.

Onyx, my K9 partner, let out a soft whine and nudged my hand with her wet nose.

"Easy, girl," I murmured, resting my hand on her neck. "This place gets to me, too."

Three skeletons already this morning; fifteen since we began searching these cursed grounds a year ago.

Behind me, the decrepit orphanage lay shrouded in overgrown vegetation, its crumbling remains nearly concealed by the sprawling twenty hectares on which it stood. The orphanage’s remote location near the North Queensland coastline had served as both a refuge and a prison for hundreds of innocent kids, and for decades, the predators who ruled this hellhole had been shielded by isolation.

Back in the seventies and eighties, authorities had rarely made the arduous trek to check on the well-being of the poor kids housed here, and when they did, advance notice gave the monsters enough time to bury their horrors. Literally.

Decades later, this remote slice of land was finally giving up those secrets.

Sweat trickled down my back as the tropical sun mercilessly beat down on me, and the air was so still that even the gum trees dominating the perimeter of the property seemed to be melting in the heat haze. I wiped my brow, questioning my decision to work here at the height of summer. But these poor victims needed someone to find them.

The forensics team had been forced to pause the search for these unmarked graves last year when more recent cases pulled us away. These children had waited over forty years for someone to find them. A few more months wouldn’t matter.

But it mattered to me.

The orphanage’s crumbling facade stood as a ghost of its former grandeur, and its once-proud architecture was now an ugly monument to cruelty. The Edwardian monstrosity was a rare find in these parts of Australia, and under different circumstances, it might have commanded a small fortune. But the vile atrocities committed here had rendered the asset virtually worthless.

The long-dead owner had willed the estate to his only sister, a woman who had suffered the last two decades in the fog of dementia. She would have been about fifty years old when the orphanage was shut down. Did she know what happened here?

Onyx jumped to all fours and barked, drawing my attention to a mob of kangaroos grazing between two towering gum trees. The alpha male rose to his full height, muscles rippling beneath his red fur.

I whistled.He’s a big bastard.

Onyx would come out second best if she took on that beast.

"Steady, girl." I pressed my hand to her shoulder, feeling her muscles coil with the restraint of her youth. Three years of intensive training couldn't completely override her puppy instincts. She wasn’t always on her best behavior, but I saw her potential and had no doubt that she would become one of the best dogs I’d ever trained.

She barked once more, and the mob of kangaroos melted into the bush like morning mist. Might as well have been ghosts out here; not that I believed in that superstitious crap. My triplet brother Whitney did, though. My brother could talk an ear off about ghosts andspirits, especially after a few beers during our Thursday night dinners at Mom and Dad’s place.

The skeleton drew my attention again. The skull was tiny. This child had never reached their teens.

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