Читать книгу Code of Justice - Liz Johnson - Страница 8

“Ladies, you better make sure you’re buckled up. Now!” the pilot said. The sightseeing helicopter gave a vicious lurch and started losing altitude. “The cyclic isn’t responding! We’re going down!”

Heather Sloan jostled the belt around her waist until it was secure, then grabbed across the seat for the hand of her sister Kit, the only other passenger.

Kit’s green eyes eclipsed the rest of her thin face, which was even more pale than usual. Her grip was devastating, and Heather quickly lost feeling in three fingers. Their eyes remained locked as the pilot growled frantically to himself.

“What’s happening?” Kit’s words were so soft that Heather couldn’t even hear her through the headset and had to read her lips.

“I don’t know,” she said with a shake of her head. She tried to squeeze the other woman’s hand, but the aircraft dropped then bounced as if attached to a rubber band as the engine wheezed and the rotor went silent. Stomach lodged firmly in her throat, Heather blinked at the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes. Tears that mirrored her sister’s. As an FBI agent, Heather was used to danger. But when she was on a case, she knew to be prepared for what she might face. She wasn’t prepared for this. How had a simple day trip with her sister gone so wrong so fast?

“Hold on! Tight!” growled Jack DeWitt, the grizzly man in front of them, as he madly punched red, flashing buttons on the dashboard. “I’ve lost all control! Something’s wrong with the back rotor!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Heather spied the strangely slanted horizon on the other side of the wide window. But it wasn’t the horizon that was off. It was the angle of the helicopter as they plunged toward the forest below.

Wrestling to maintain control, Jack grunted, sparing a glance over his shoulder to confirm that his only two passengers were belted in. He offered them a curt nod before returning to the problem at hand. Grabbing the small black radio at the corner of his mouth, he yelled something that was lost behind the rushing in Heather’s ears.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, more to herself than Kit. Then for all of them, she sent up a quick prayer for safety. “Lord, please let us walk away from this.”

The seats began shaking with the force of Jack trying to keep the aircraft aloft. It felt as if the doors were going to rip off and the paneling would simply disintegrate.

“Heather, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Kit.” Her little sister’s dark hair and green eyes were the opposite of her own fair complexion, but their features were the same, and for an instant Heather couldn’t help but wonder if her own face reflected the same terror.

“I meant to tell you—” The floor panels rattled, drowning out Kit’s words. “Heather,” she tried again, her white hands squeezing even tighter. “I needed to tell you—”

And then there was nothing but the crashing of trees crunching and scrape of wood against metal—worse than fingernails on a chalkboard.

Heather’s head jerked to the side, slamming against the window, making her bite her tongue, and she cried out.

The helicopter rolled to the right, and then the left, tossing the two helpless passengers at its whim. Light seemed to come and go as brush covered the windows, disappearing as quickly as it arrived.

Heather had no time to think, no time to react. She could only watch as the lightweight aircraft shuddered and the door farthest away from her peeled away. Tree limbs battered Kit, and no matter how hard she tugged, Heather couldn’t get her sister away from the brutal abuse.

It seemed to last for hours.

It was over in a flash.

Finally, the plane came to rest on the ground. From the cockpit, Jack had gone silent. Beside Heather, so had Kit. Panic started to build. Fighting the pain growing behind her temple from where she’d hit her head, Heather scrambled to reach Kit’s side. Pain shot through her left leg and right shoulder, from which hung her useless arm.

Ignoring it all, she reached for her sister, brushing long brown strands from her nicked and bruised face. A pool of blood on Kit’s left thigh grew rapidly.

“Kit? Kit, can you hear me?”

Green eyes, filled with pain, opened to half-mast. “I meant to tell you…”

“Shh. It’s okay. Help will be here soon. It’s okay.”

“Heather. Please. Drugs.”

“I don’t have anything for you. I don’t have anything for the pain.” Kit’s grip relaxed slightly, and Heather clung to her hand, holding it to her chest. “Please. Hang on.”

“Follow…”

“Shh.” A teardrop splashed on their hands, but it was several moments before Heather realized that it was her own.

Kit closed her eyes, swallowed and tried again. “Follow the drugs,” she breathed.

Heather couldn’t let go, even though she knew her sister had. She clung to Kit’s hand as darkness consumed her.