Page 21 of The Unlikely Pair
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just telling you that this points to us being in Finland when our flight path shouldn’t have taken us anywhere near Finland.”
“A Finnish hiker could have brought a can from home. They might sell Finnish products here. I’d hardly say it’s conclusive evidence we’re in Finland.”
“We were already over our flight time before the engine blew out,” I remind him.
His forehead furrows because he can’t negate that fact.
A heavy silence settles between us. Harry glances down at his laptop, then back at me, his expression unreadable.
“I’m sure Kade will have a simple explanation when he returns,” he says.
I immediately reach for my phone in my pocket before I stop short.
He took our phones. That fact rolls around inside my head like an unfinished tweet demanding attention.
I stare in the direction of the hill where Kade headed, the uneasy feeling in my gut intensifying.
“But the thing is…if he’s not calling for help, who is he calling?” I ask.
Chapter Six
Harry
Toby’s just being melodramatic. He has to be.
Toby’s always had this tendency towards hyperbole. It makes him a good debater in the Chamber, and he gives newsworthy soundbites. But it’s definitely not helpful right now. In fact, I’m beginning to get rather irritated.
Somehow, surviving a plane crash is not dramatic enough for him. He has to manufacture more opportunities for drama.
“I think your melodramatic tendencies are overtaking your rationality right now, Toby. Perhaps you can restrain them for the benefit of those of us who have the misfortune of being stranded in the wilderness with you,” I say coolly.
At that moment, there’s the sound of helicopter blades beating through the air.
Relief courses through me.
Thank goodness. This ordeal is about to end.
Hopefully, we’ll be flown straight to Oslo, and in a few hours, I’ll be sliding into crisp sheets in an impersonal hotel room, and my memories of Toby Webley’s sunlit chest will quickly recede into insignificance.
“See. Kade has called rescue services just like he was meant to,” I say.
I start to wave at the helicopter, even though we’re probably at a distance where it can’t see us, when Toby grabs my arm.
His fingers wrap around my biceps, and I fancy I can feel the heat of his hand through my shirt and jacket.
I swallow, my face feeling oddly flushed.
“What are you doing?” My voice sounds like it has been strangled on the way out. I clear my throat as I wrench my arm away from him.
But Toby is not paying any attention to me. His focus is on the helicopter buzzing towards us.
“It doesn’t have any markings. Wouldn’t a rescue helicopter have bright markings?”
“Perhaps they do it differently in Norway,” I say.
“I think the principles of visibility and easy identification of rescue helicopters would remain the same internationally, wouldn’t they?” Toby asks, his voice strained.
