Page 136 of The Moments You Were Mine
“Parker!” I shook his shoulder. Blood dripped down from a gash on his forehead, and panic bloomed inside me again. “Parker!”
I saw the rise and fall of his chest as my fingers landed on the pulse at his neck.
He was alive. God… Those damn tears flooded my eyes once more.
I had to get us out of here.
I braced my legs as I unlocked my harness so I wouldn’t fallonto him. The plane rocked as I dropped so I was straddling him. When I bent to unlatch his belt, my brain objected. Already battered and smashed from the horse’s hoof, it screamed at me for bouncing it around even more. With unsteady hands, I undid his seat belt and then straightened, reaching for the pilot’s door that was now over my head.
The latch opened easily, but it took all my strength to counter gravity and fling it wide. The motion sent the plane into another dizzying sway that had me slamming into the instrument panel. I shoved myself away from it and turned back to Parker.
I pushed my shoulders under his armpit, using my legs to lift his dead weight. I’d tossed hay bales my whole life. I’d shoveled and dug and scraped my way through chores on the ranch. I had muscles, but they were out of shape from years in San Diego, and they groaned at trying to lift him.
“Parker, wake up,” I hissed as his head rolled into me.
Somehow, I got him up out of the seat, but our weight sent the plane pitching again, and I almost dropped him into the back. I finally got him propped up against the pilot’s seat while I eyed the door, trying to figure out a way to get him out first. Smoke and the scent of avgas drifted through the opening, burning my nose and making my eyes water more.
“Give me your hand,” a deep voice said at the door. Relief filled me. Help had arrived. A mechanic or someone from the tower. The emergency crew couldn’t possibly be here yet.
“Help me get him out first,” I said, pushing Parker within reach of the man’s hands.
“I’ll come back for him. You first,” he demanded. His face was shadowed, the sun glaring behind him. I had a sense of dark hair and beard and nothing else.
“No. He’s unconscious,” I told him. “We get him out first.”
The man swore, but he reached in farther and grabbed Parker’s shoulders. I wrapped my arms around Parker’s thighs and lifted. Between the two of us, we got him out the door. As he hauled Parker over the edge, I started to climb out and watched in alarm as the man carelessly dumped Parker on the tarmac near the back of the plane before turning to jog back to me.
He was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap.
He wasn’t anyone I’d seen at the airport, but then again, Ihadn’t been here often in the last few years.
He reached out a hand to help me as I jumped out. My feet had barely landed when the smoke and smell made me gag.
“We have to get away from the plane!”
I’d just pushed away from him, stepping toward Parker, when I heard the slide and release of a gun. The tip of a barrel landed on my temple, and I froze.
“We’ll just leave him there.” The voice was steady and dark. “If he dies, it’s his fault for sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
My heart hammered against my rib cage. The adrenaline rush that had kicked in during the crash spun out of control, nearly taking my breath away. I turned slightly, trying to get a better look at the man I’d thought was our rescuer. He was exactly as Chuck had described him—a man hiding his features.
But I knew who he was now. Knew what he wanted. Dad. Me. All of us dead.
I swallowed hard, trying to move my feet, but they were lodged to the ground as if they were cement blocks. In the distance, I heard the faint sound of sirens. Fire engines. An ambulance. But they were still too far away to be of help.
“Give me your phone,” he demanded.
“It’s in the plane.” I nodded to the wreck behind him. To my horror, I saw flames lick at the grass beneath it.
He thrust the gun into my temple once more, and the knot there screamed in agony. His large, rough hands slid over my ass, checking my pockets to see if I was lying.
“I don’t have it,” I said, surprised when my voice sounded as calm as it had after the explosion. In truth, I was freaking the fuck out. Terror had me in its grip. For Parker, lying on the ground near the fire and fuel. For me, facing a man full of hate.
“Move,” he said, shoving me toward the hangars. The action nearly sent me tumbling to the ground, but I caught myself and willed my feet to move.
My mind reeled. What was in the hangar? What could I use as a weapon?
How could I get away? Could I run? Would he just shoot me?
