Tailspin (3 page)

FOUR

W
ater rushed into the plane that had hit too hard. Sylvie fought the panic. Sucked in air hard and fast. Must. Slow. Breathing. Hyperventilating would do her no good. Passing out wasn't an option. One of them had to get the two of them out.

With Will unconscious that would leave Sylvie.

Forget what she'd already been through. Survive. She had to survive—to reach down and find strength she didn't know she had.

Water poured in.

The plane was sinking.

Sinking?

Sylvie had always thought floatplanes were, well, supposed to float. But then she remembered Jacques Cousteau's son, also a diver, who died in a floatplane that crashed and sank.

Surely the pontoons would prevent it from completely submerging. Wasn't that the whole purpose of pontoons on a floatplane? But that didn't mean that Will wouldn't drown in the meantime.

A small gash in his forehead bled. She unbuckled the strap, bracing herself for the rush forward into water that had quickly covered the controls.

Sylvie pressed a finger against Will's neck, confirming he was still alive. She couldn't accept anything less. Then she worked to unbuckle him from the shoulder harness, but it wouldn't budge.

“Come on!” she yelled at the buckle.

What she wouldn't give for her diver's knife. It had to be in here somewhere. They were both fortunate her tanks hadn't flown forward and cracked their heads during the impact.

“Will, come on, you need to wake up.”

The plane creaked and groaned. It would pitch completely over and upside down soon, and then Will's head would be fully under water. They would both be. Sylvie searched his pockets.

There.

She found a pocketknife.

But before she set him free, she opened his door, left it hanging forward before the water pressure could seal it shut. More water rushed in at the bottom.

She was running out of time.

Quickly she sawed through his shoulder strap. Though she prepared to catch Will, his dead weight fell forward on her and smashed her against the dashboard, the yoke gouging into her back. The blow knocked the air from her lungs. She worked to push his head above the waterline.

Now to get him out. They were going to make it. She could do this. Sylvie slipped by him in the small space then tugged him out into the water. She'd swim him to shore, keeping his head high. This was lifeguard 101, and was actually much easier to do with an unconscious victim than one who was awake and struggling.

With regret, she left her diving equipment in the plane to save Will. She wouldn't think ahead, wouldn't concern herself with what to do, until she made it to shore. She positioned him on his back and hooked her arms under his armpits. On her back, she swam them to shore. She tried to keep her thoughts from what she might face—the immediate danger of exposure to the elements—and instead focused on what she could do. After all, two men had tried to kill her, and this seemed small in comparison.

She could swim.

Had been born with a natural affinity for water.

You're in your element, Sylvie.

Just breathe. Swim. Save Will.

Regardless of her attempts at self-assurance, feeble though they were, fear twisted inside, corded in the sinews of her muscles. She hadn't expected things to turn this way. Hadn't expected to face death twice in one day.

Bad enough someone had tried to kill her. Worse, she'd almost died in a plane crash like her mother. Though she'd admit that Will's plane—and Will himself—had saved her the first part of the day. And Will would be sick about the loss once he woke up.

He
would
wake up.

He had to wake up.

Her back scraped across pebbles and sand and rocks. Ignoring the pain, she dragged Will the rest of the way onto a small strip of sand. Sylvie examined his head then the rest of him. She could see no other injury besides the gash in his head that was no longer bleeding so profusely. Hopefully, it would stop soon. She had nothing with which to staunch the flow.

She could swim back and get a first-aid kit from the plane before it sank. Or her scuba equipment! But her body was too cold. It wouldn't be safe. She might not make it back.

She held his face in her hands. “Will, can you hear me?”

He'd lost his ball cap in the melee, and his hair was thicker than she'd initially thought. He had a jutting chin on a nice strong jaw. She felt strange holding his face, touching him like this. It seemed entirely too intimate with someone who was practically a stranger, but this was a matter of life and death. She didn't think he would care. She wished he would open his eyes—those warm brown eyes. Though she hadn't appreciated his questions or his humor at first, the warmth in his tone had comforted her when she'd needed it.

“Will,” she whispered. “If you'll wake up, I might just agree to fly again.”

But Will didn't respond. The cold water hadn't shocked him awake like she would have expected. It had shocked her system, though, and she was shivering even now. She released his face, hating that his color wasn't good. Looking at the thick temperate rain forest behind her and across the water on the other side, she studied the mountains peaking above the treetops in the distance.

She knew enough about the geography to believe they were somewhere south, way south of Juneau. Far enough that it might as well have been a thousand miles. Sylvie dropped to where the water lapped and pressed her head into her knees.

Just what was she supposed to do now?

* * *

Cold prickles stung his face. Shivering, Will opened his eyes to raindrops bombarding him, along with what felt like an anvil pounding his temples.

Where am I?

His mind raced, competing with his pulse as he pushed up and caught sight of the woman sitting next to him, face pressed against her knees. Guilt tackled him. Though his mind was fuzzy, he somehow knew he'd failed her.

“Sylvie.” He reached over and pressed his hand against her arm. “Are you okay?”

Lifting her head, she turned to face him, her hazel eyes drawing him in. “Will, I'm so glad... I thought you were...”

Will couldn't understand why she was still here. She was going to die if she didn't get someplace warm. He would, too, for that matter. They'd both been soaked to the bone, and right now the temperature wasn't much different on the ground than in the water. It was his fault she was here now. Somehow it was his fault. But his mind still struggled to understand.

Think, Will, think.

Then the all-too-fresh memories rolled over him. “How long have I been out?”

She lifted her shoulders as if called to action. “Not that long. The plane...” Sylvie looked out to the water.

Will followed her gaze. He stood, taking it all in. He'd nearly gotten them both killed. Something had gone wrong—something partly out of his hands, out of his control. But he should have improvised or adjusted. Why was that part still such a blur? He raked his arm across his eyes and forehead. It came away smeared with blood.

“You're okay,” she said. “The bleeding stopped.”

He drew her to her feet while he stared at his plane, completely flipped nose down and sinking. “I've never personally seen that happen.”

Nor had he experienced anything like it. That he'd lost a plane today, to add to the loss of his mother's plane, pressed against nerve centers he hadn't known he possessed. But that was nothing compared to losing his mother.

Still, none of these thoughts would help Sylvie. Getting her someplace warm and safe was his priority. And knowing he had a mission, someone to help, would keep his head in the game, despite his losses.

“How did I get here?” He looked back at her, grateful the rain had eased up. “You pulled me out and swam me to safety?”

She nodded, rubbed her arms.

“Thank you.”

“I didn't know where to go after that, what to do. Seemed like I was back where I started, only with an injured man this time. But at least no one is trying to find and kill me at the moment.”

As far as you know.
But he didn't voice his thoughts.

Will hoped that would remain the case for a long while. Forever would be nice. He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “It's going to be okay, Sylvie. We're going to be okay.”

Those words reminded him of something else, but he couldn't quite remember what. Something hovered at the edge of his mind. Something about today that connected him to Sylvie. He hoped he'd remember while it still mattered.

A smile softened her grim features. He hadn't thought her pretty at first, but now he changed his mind. Her smile brightened her eyes and emphasized appealing dimples against soft, smooth skin. Something else thrived behind her determined gaze that drew him to her.

Her shiver snapped his focus back to where it should be.

“I have a friend who lives not too far. I'm sure he saw us go down—I'm surprised he hasn't already shown up.” That was only partially true. He'd said the man was a friend, but in fact, he was only a client and a recluse who liked his privacy. Will had no idea what reaction they would get when they showed up. Will had never actually been invited to the cabin, but knew from flying over where it was relative to the beach.

“Are you okay to walk?”

“Yes, lead the way.” She hugged herself.

“Good. Shouldn't take long.” He trudged ahead of her.

Will wished he could hold her close to share some body heat, but that would be awkward. He didn't think they were that desperate yet. Yes, Sylvie had taken a beating today. With her ripped suit, circles under her eyes, bluish skin and lips, anyone could look at her and see how badly she'd been hurt. But in her eyes, those hazel eyes, Will saw her unbridled determination and knew she wouldn't accept his help.

What man could help but admire her?

They neared the tree line and he followed the brook that would eventually lead them to the off-grid cabin where John Snake lived. Snake—he liked the nickname to keep out the riffraff—usually met Will near the beach for his packages, but that was when he knew to expect Will.

He turned to check on Sylvie, but she was farther behind than he'd thought. Frowning, he made his way back. She was strong, but she'd been through a lot both before and after he'd come on the scene in his floatplane.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

Seeing her purse her lips, he got the sense she wanted to smile, but couldn't. “How much farther?”

Will hated to tell her it was still a couple more miles, and the terrain wasn't getting any easier. Add to that, the rain was icy cold and coming down harder.

He didn't like the glazed look in her eyes. “A mile, maybe.”

She dropped to a log and hung her head. “Okay. I can do that. I just... I think I might have sprained my ankle. These diving boots are no good in this type of terrain.”

He frowned. “No kidding.”

“Give me a minute to rest.”

Was she serious? Will wouldn't expect her to walk if she was injured. In fact, he shouldn't have let her walk to the cabin even before finding out about her ankle. What with hypothermia setting in and she hinting at having decompression sickness, she was in a world of hurt, but he didn't want to step on her strong and capable toes, so he hadn't offered any help.

Until now. There wasn't time to rest. They had to get out of the weather.

He scraped his arms under her knees and around her back and lifted her.

“What are you doing?” Alarm jumped from her gaze and her voice.

Will settled her against him until she felt right. She was lean and solid, as divers tended to be, but light enough he could manage the distance. “Don't take offense, Sylvie. I need to get you out of this weather.”

Her gaze softened. “Thank you. I didn't mean for you to have to do this.”

“I figure I owe you. After all, you pulled me from a sinking plane and swam me to shore. Saved my life. So it's my turn to carry you.” There. Hopefully, he hadn't offended her strong and capable woman sensibilities.

Sylvie didn't argue and instead rested her head against his shoulder. That ignited familiar feelings inside. Protective feelings. He'd forgotten he could feel that way and instantly remembered why he hadn't wanted to. A year ago he'd given it all to Michelle and she'd made a fool of him, practically leading him around town by the proverbial ring in his nose until she'd dumped him. In the end she couldn't take the fact Will was a bush pilot. He was gone all the time and he wasn't there to do her bidding or entertain her. She'd claimed she was afraid he would die out there in the bush and she'd be left alone. It was her or flying. He'd had a choice to make.

So he'd come back early, canceled a job and was almost ready to give it all up for her—against his mother's strong advice, of course—when he found Michelle with someone else.

Everyone had seen the fool that Will had been except for Will until it was too late.

He wouldn't allow that to happen again. But this situation had nothing to do with that one.

Two different women.

Two different scenarios.

If Sylvie had any hint of his thoughts she'd be out of his arms in a second, and that would do neither of them any good. Will had to get his mind off Sylvie's proximity. He tried to focus on the steps he took rather than the warmth of Sylvie's body against his.

If he could get her talking about what happened today, maybe it would distract him and they could find some answers to boot.

“Tell me about those men, Sylvie. Why did they try to kill you?”

“I already told you I don't know anything.”

Was she telling the truth? “So this was just random, then? Two men were there, and you were at the wrong place at the wrong time? What could you have stumbled on? I can't imagine they were out there minding their own business and decided to kill whoever showed up for no reason.”