Читать книгу Hidden Identity - Alice Sharpe - Страница 10

It squatted on the tarmac like a bloated dragonfly, a little bigger and a lot older than she’d expected. Painted a drab green with half a dozen random splashes of other colors, it had obviously been in service for decades.

Chelsea had never flown in a helicopter before. She would have thought the stress of the past few weeks might have left her too worn-out for nerves, but nope, turned out that wasn’t the case. She held the bouquet of roses closer to her body and approached a man she took to be the pilot, who, wrench in hand, was peering into the open engine compartment. Was that a bad omen?

He looked up at the sound of her footsteps and broke into a welcoming grin. “You must be Ms. Pierce,” he said as he closed the cover and secured it.

“Chelsea, please. And you’re Mr. Black?”

“Heck, call me Bobby. Everyone does except my ex-wife and you don’t want to know the words she uses.” He tucked the wrench into his pocket, stuck out his hand, apparently noticed all the grease smudges and plucked a rag from his belt instead. Tall and rangy with a touch of gray in his hair, it was impossible not to hear the lingering drawl of Texas in his voice. Chelsea opened her purse and withdrew the requested money order, made out for the amount he’d specified. It was a lot of money for her, and now, as she peered over his shoulder at the aging chopper, she second-guessed her decision to hire him.

Really, would that thing fly? Was it safe?

He apparently sensed her hesitation. “Don’t underestimate old Gertie,” he said, patting the drab metal. “She’s been around, sure—heck, so have I—but we’re both fit as a fiddle. I have our route mapped out. I’ll get close enough to drop those roses.” His gaze darted from the flowers to the money order.

For a second, she contemplated walking away but her peace of mind was at stake and that was no small matter.

Chelsea had found this guy on the internet—he was the only one she could afford—and had spoken to him on the phone. She’d outlined her plan and been assured it was a piece of easy-peasy pie. Then she’d asked her sister, Lindy, to run the food truck for a few days and driven from San Francisco toward Nevada, spent the night in a motel where the cockroaches were bigger than her shoes, counted out fifty dollars for flowers and allowed her heart to embrace the possibility of closure.

And now she was going to give up because the helicopter looked a little...tired?

Steven’s face floated through her mind. Gray eyes that ranged in shade from hazy morning dawn to early evening twilight, lips that caused her heart to flutter, a killer body topped off by a soul as deep as the sea. With him, she’d embraced the concept of forever. And now he was gone.

How did a relationship that lasted only a few weeks produce such profound fallout including so many unanswered questions? Police found evidence of a struggle and gunshots in his empty house but no victims. She’d been frantic at first, then informed by various “officials” that Steven had driven to a small out-of-town airport, retrieved his plane and flown away.

Flown away? He had a plane? Where did he go? And why didn’t he take her with him?

One of the officials, a fifty-year-old guy named Ballard, managed to insinuate Steven was not who he said he was and she was better off without him. She’d already guessed the first part, and she adamantly denied the latter, then told him to get out and not come back.

But where did Steven get an airplane? Why had he never mentioned it or that he was a pilot?

Authorities then located the downed aircraft in the extreme depths of a glacial lake located in a designated wilderness area in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Ballard had shown up again, this time with a smirk on his face. He’d casually informed her that due to a host of reasons, from EPA regulations down to cost effectiveness, the plane was unsalvageable. Gear from the crash had floated to the surface, but Steven’s body remained underwater, probably strapped into his seat from now until time’s end.

There was no turning back, not for Steven, and not for her, either. She extended the money order to the pilot.

Bobby’s smudged hand reached for it as a taxi pulled up. It stopped with a squeal of brakes and the passenger door flew open. A man hit the ground running.

“I caught you, thank God,” he said as he ground to a stop in front of the pilot. He didn’t spare Chelsea so much as a glance. “I need to rent that helicopter,” he added. “I need to get to my house outside of Elko, Nevada. There’s a private airstrip there you can use. I’ll pay whatever you want. Just hurry.”

Greed stole into Bobby’s eyes. He licked his lips as he glanced at Chelsea and for a second she was sure he was about to send her packing. The panic of that possibility cemented the importance she’d placed on this sojourn and any lingering doubts fled. If Bobby thought he could ditch her for Mr. Money Pockets, he was in for a fight.

Before she could plead her case, Bobby turned back to the newcomer and sighed. “Sorry,” he said with obvious regret. “I’m already booked. This little lady here, well, me and Gertie are all hers for as long as she needs.”

The newcomer turned the force of his attention to Chelsea. Standing face-to-face with her, he appeared younger than she’d originally thought, closer to forty than fifty. His suit looked expensive, as did the gold ring on his left hand. “How much?” he said.

“How much what?”

“For you to walk away.”

“I’m sorry,” she began, “but—”

“How about twice what’s on that check you’re holding?” he said, his dark eyes intense.

“It’s not about money.”

“What then? Can’t you see I’m desperate?”

She could see that. However, so was she.

He took a deep, shaky breath. “Listen, miss. I know this is abrupt but I can explain. I’m in the middle of a business trip, right? On my way to Los Angeles, or at least I was. Then just as my plane began boarding, I got a call.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “The bottom line is my wife’s been in an accident. Apparently, it’s—it’s bad. I live in an out-of-the-way burg of a town. It’ll take two flights and a long car drive to get me home and all that takes time. This is my only chance of seeing her, of getting to her in time...”

The pilot cleared his throat. “You two could share the chopper,” he said. “Miss Pierce’s destination is about halfway to yours. We could combine the flights.”

“But landing and taking off again takes time,” the man said. “Time I may not have—”

Chelsea interrupted. “I don’t need to land. All I need is for the helicopter to fly low and hover for a minute or two while I...well, I need those few minutes and a little silence. After that, I don’t care where I go as long as I end up back here. As far as I’m concerned you’re welcome to share the flight.”

She had at first read the guy’s demeanor as dismissive or even arrogant, but now that she understood what was behind his impatience her heart went out to him. Who better than she knew the ache of losing someone you love? Maybe this guy still had time to say goodbye. Tears burned behind her nose.

“You’d be willing to do that?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

He took a steadying breath. “Thank you.” He glanced at the money order still clutched in her hand. “You keep that. This is on me.”

“I couldn’t let you—”

“Please.”

“You two choke me up, you really do,” Bobby said with a new grin that made the first one look anemic by comparison. “You both have some papers to sign while I refile the flight plan and then we’ll be off. But I have to warn you Mr.—”

“Smith. My name is Jacob Smith.”

“I’m going to have to refuel at your destination before we fly back here. You’ll have to pay for the extra time and miles—”

“Just tell me how much,” Smith said, waving away his waiting taxi. “And hurry.”

Chelsea was happy to let the two men work out the details as she did her best not to shiver in the weak spring sun. Eventually everything was settled and she was ushered into the helicopter and directed to sit in the second row of seats, closest to the door. The space behind her was piled with duffel bags and taped-up boxes of every size.

Under the pilot’s direction she strapped herself in her seat and set aside the roses. As Jacob Smith stood outside talking on his cell phone, Bobby gave her instructions about what to do when the time came to throw the flowers, then closed the cargo door and ran around the aircraft to climb aboard. She expected Smith would claim the seat next to hers, but he slipped into the front with the pilot. Given his anxiety, it made sense to her that he would want to sit as far forward as possible. She was grateful for the semiprivacy of their turned heads.

Once the switches were thrown and the blades started revolving, conversation was out of the question, although Bobby had pointed out the headset they could use to communicate once she put it on. Frankly, right then she didn’t want to talk to anyone. In her mind she reviewed the directions she’d given him, taken from Steven himself when she asked him to tell her about the happiest day of his life.

He’d responded, “Today. Here with you. Now.”

There’d been a long pause as she lost herself in his kisses. Eventually she’d rephrased the question. “Okay then, the happiest day before we met?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “That’s easy. There’s this little cabin not that far from here,” he’d said, and then proceeded to describe a mountain getaway in such detail she could not only see it in her head, but was also pretty sure she could find it on a map. “It was one of the last places I visited with my parents. I’ll never forget it.”

Once she’d finally accepted his death and the repercussions that would live with her forever, the need to somehow bring peace to her life became imperative. She’d thought of visiting the lake where his plane was entombed in water. But then she’d remembered this cabin and chosen past joy over current pain.

The helicopter rose off the ground and her stomach lurched. Ninety minutes. She retrieved the bouquet of roses, glanced at the gold foil handwritten note she’d attached to the stems and clutched them to her chest. Their perfume bathed her face as she closed her eyes.

* * *

SOMEHOW, DESPITE THE loud and constant whirring of the blades, she managed to fall asleep, but awakened with a start. Gazing out the window, she saw little but tree-covered mountains in every direction. Where were they? She put on the headset. She could see the tops of both men’s heads but there was no conversation going on between them.

“Are we getting close?” she asked.

Bobby threw her a thumbs-up. His voice crackled through the headset. “We’re almost there. Look down. See the river?”

This time when she gazed out the window she glimpsed the unmistakable glitter of water winding its way through the trees.

Bobby’s voice came through the comm system again. “Remember to wait until I tell you to open the window. I’ll get down close, but first I’ll circle the area so you can check it out.”

“Sounds good.”

“I told you not to do that,” Jacob Smith interjected.

“We’ve been over this already,” Bobby snapped. “Like I said, this part of the flight is Chelsea’s.”

“You will go nowhere near that house, is that clear?”

“Why not?” Chelsea asked.

“It’ll...waste time,” Smith said, his voice tight.

“No, it won’t,” Bobby insisted.

“It’s okay, do as he says,” Chelsea told Bobby. She was looking for peace and closure, not arguments. “I’m fine.”

Smith’s grunt sounded smug. Or maybe just relieved. But the tension between the two men was palpable. What had gone on while she slept?

Within a few minutes, the trees began to thin and a small meadow appeared, just as Steven had described, right down to the wildflowers carpeting the ground and the old rock wall bordering three sides. She sat forward as a small cabin came into focus. Bobby headed straight for it despite Smith’s continued insistence that he stop. She tried to ignore their bickering. A curl of smoke drifted upward from the chimney and that surprised her for some reason. Silly that it should—Steven hadn’t been here in years and hadn’t known who owned it now or even if it was still here.

Broad stone decks surrounded the small residence while budding tree limbs brushed the roof. She could all but feel Steven sitting beside her, eagerly looking out the window, pointing out details, his breath warm against her cheek. Her hand pressed against the glass as her gaze swept over the meadow they once again circled. The river where Steven had caught his first rainbow trout glistened nearby.

The last time she’d seen him he’d asked her to marry him. After her enthusiastic yes, they’d made love and somehow it had been different, more profound, perhaps, more meaningful than ever before. Afterward, they’d talked for hours about the kind of house they’d build. Looking at this cabin, it was clear he’d channeled his vision from this very spot.

“Goodbye, my love,” she whispered with her fingers against the glass.

“It’s time, Chelsea,” Bobby said. She took off the headset, craving solitude. The chopper moved away from the cabin toward the river. Was someone inside the cabin, watching their departure and wondering why they’d been subjected to this noisy intrusion? No matter, the chopper would be long gone before anyone had a chance to complain.

She unclipped the straps that held her in her seat, scooting forward a little to slide open the window as the wind immediately whipped her long dark hair across her face. The river below flowed in endless rhythm and she pictured a young Steven, fishing pole in hand, walking the grassy banks.

Was she angry with him? Yes. He’d omitted key facts about himself, been cagey, maybe even dishonest, and that went against everything she’d thought she’d known about him. But mostly, she just felt alone and cheated and sad.

Loud voices yanked her attention back to the front of the helicopter. She could only see Bobby’s face and he looked livid. A sudden jerk was quickly followed by a distinct shudder, and now they made a slow turn back toward the meadow. Her stomach rolled. In her rush to find something to hold on to, the roses fell from her grasp and slid across the floor. Peering between the front seats, she saw Smith’s hand close around Bobby’s wrist as he clutched the control stick. The shouting between them continued while the chopper’s erratic movements became even more pronounced.

She scooted back in her seat, refastening the buckles with shaking hands. The headset slid toward the door with the roses. She hooked it with her foot before raising her leg and grabbing it. She pulled it over her ears and winced as the shouts became unbearably loud and heated.

“You just had to circle the damn house, didn’t you?” Smith roared. “You idiot.”

“Get your hands off me. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Land this damn thing,” Smith insisted.

“Now you want to land? I thought you were so hot to trot.” There was a moment of tense silence. Smith released his grip on Bobby’s wrist. A second later, Bobby swore.

“Are you kidding me? Put that gun away.”

A gun!

“Land the helicopter,” Smith said and now Chelsea, too, saw he held a dull black revolver and it was pointed at Bobby.

“You’re going to get us all killed,” Bobby bellowed.

“You’re overshooting the meadow,” Smith growled. “Land in the meadow.”

Chelsea glanced out the window. They were moving over the trees now. Green tops swayed just a few feet below but at least the chopper seemed stable. But why did Smith want to land? Wasn’t his whole point speed? And why in the world did he carry a gun?

Bobby suddenly lunged toward the armed man as though trying to grab the weapon. A shot reverberated in the small cabin, deafening, terrifying. Bobby grabbed his right arm as blood oozed through his fingers. “You—you maniac!” he yelled.

“Land this damn thing,” Smith repeated as he jabbed the air with the gun. As if sensing Chelsea’s horrified gaze, he turned to face her, pinning her to the seat, his once mournful eyes now cold and menacing. Chills raced along her spine as he turned his attention back to Bobby.

The helicopter moved sideways like a flying crab, tilting slightly on its left side. A sudden crash came from behind them, immediately followed by a rolling shudder that vibrated through the metal hull.

“We lost the rear rotor,” Bobby gasped.

“Land!” Smith demanded.

“It’s too late for that. Get that gun out of my face!”

The chopper spun, the nose lower now, and plummeted down through the greenery as Bobby obviously worked to accomplish a life-saving landing. His labored breathing played in her headset like a dirge. Seconds passed in blinding speed. Chelsea held on to the straps, her thoughts moving from the drama in the front, to the love she’d lost, to the future now slipping through her fingers.

A microsecond later, the skids hit the forest floor and all the cargo behind her shot forward like missiles, flying at her head and shoulders and at the backs of the two seats in front of her. She had a moment to assess the fact that she was still alive and then they were moving again, this time tearing through the underbrush, what remained of the blades crashing against tree trunks, skids catching on undergrowth, branches protruding through Chelsea’s open window then snapping and breaking, flying into the chopper, aimed at her. Everything came to a sudden, grinding halt. The windshield shattered as the forest invaded the front with the finesse of a bulldozer, pushing the passenger and pilot seats back toward Chelsea. The baggage that had bombarded her from behind now flew into her face, burying her.

Steven! her heart shouted as she lost consciousness without forming another cognizant thought.