She spied the weathered white Cessna she’d seen Max Taggert jump out of yesterday and made straight for it. It sat higher than it looked from far away. With one last glance around, she grabbed hold of the pole running between the body of the plane and wing, climbed up onto the foothold and tugged on the door.
It opened.
Jeez, her heart was thudding so hard she could feel it pounding against her rib cage. She hadn’t even considered what she’d do if the door had been locked. Which she should have. What kind of drug runner left his plane unlocked?
She took in a fortifying breath of Arctic air. Just do it.
She climbed in and crawled behind the pilot’s seat into the cargo space. Digging out a flashlight from her purse, she shone the light around and spied a large toolbox, a slatted crate next to it and a wadded-up tarp in the very back. Other than that, the interior was empty.
She rifled through the crate and found a butane lantern, some canned goods and other camping type items. Only tools in the toolbox. Nothing under the tarp. That left hidden compartments in the walls.
She’d finished feeling one side when she heard men’s voices carried on the wind. Someone was out there. The door. She’d left it open. On her hands and knees she scrambled to the pilot’s seat and saw two men talking just outside the hangar entrance. One of them was Max Taggert.
Thankfully, neither man was facing the plane. She slowly closed the door, then crawled back to the cargo area and hid under the tarp, curling into a tight ball.
She didn’t hear anything else until the plane’s door opened. Serena held her breath.
“—talked to the tower and visibility is four miles,” Max said to someone. She’d recognize that deep, smooth voice anywhere. There was a soft thud as the plane bounced under the weight of whatever was being loaded.
“Need to sign your flight plan and you’re ready to go,” the other guy said, and she heard metal clanking on the ground. They were untying it.
Another thud and the plane bounced again. The first item was shoved farther back into the cargo area. Two more heavy items were loaded and Serena feared she might be blocked in.
Finally she heard the plane’s door close and there was silence. Sounded as if she only had a few minutes. She threw off the tarp and turned on her flashlight. Two duct-taped coolers and a couple cardboard boxes sat ominously around her. Before she could rethink her actions, she stuck the flashlight between her teeth, slowly peeled the duct tape off one cooler, and peeked inside.
Meat?
She dug underneath the top layer. Frozen packages of steaks, chicken, pork chops, roast beef, ground round.
No drugs.
Unless they were hidden in the meat. And how could she tell?
She closed the cooler and replaced the tape, then pried open one of the cardboard boxes. Gourmet food. Fancy soaps. Egyptian cotton bed linens?
If this guy was transporting drugs, would they be hid den inside soaps and jars of truffles? If so, she couldn’t see them.
Time to go.
Breathing heavily, she picked her way around the coolers and boxes, squeezing between while trying to move them as little as possible. Grasping the door handle, she turned it slowly and lifted outward.
“Woof!” The dog was sitting on the asphalt outside the plane. He leaped up and scratched his paws on the pilot’s door.
Serena barely suppressed a scream with her hand over her mouth and jumped backward, knocking into the passenger seat. She couldn’t breathe. Her whole body shook. The hangar door opened. She grabbed the plane’s door and clicked it shut, and then scrambled back behind the two tall coolers just as the door opened.
“What is it, Mick?” Max sounded as if he stood just outside.
The dog whined and then barked again.
“Are you hungry, boy? I know. You want that steak, don’t you?”
Mick continued barking and scratching, pawing at the plane.
“No, Mick. Come on. Get in.”
Serena would have laughed if it hadn’t been so disastrous. Outwitted by a dog. The one thing she hadn’t thought of. All he had to do was shift a cooler or reach back here for something and he’d see her.
Before she realized it, Max shouted something and started the engine. With a jolt, the plane began rolling back. Maybe she should just surrender and give him the returning the gloves story. But that felt too much like giving up.
And if he was dangerous, he could do worse than press charges for trespassing.
Just stay calm. She had two choices: reveal herself now and risk jail. Or ride to Barrow. She could sneak off after he unloaded his plane, and then catch a commercial flight back.
She’d never been to Barrow. If he was selling drugs there, maybe the local police force would have some information. Or she could tail him and see if he met anyone.
The plane turned and picked up a little speed, taxiing down the runway. Then the engine roared louder and the plane sped up and her stomach dipped as it lifted off.
Too late now.
Afraid to move for fear he’d hear her, she laid her head on her arm and resigned herself to a long ride.
She must have slept some, but she woke up shivering. The temperature had dropped substantially. How long was the flight to Barrow? Fear curled around her throat. Could she freeze to death back here? She zipped up her parka and slowly scooted to the back of the plane to fish out Max’s gloves from her purse and slip them on.
The tarp! She lifted it, crawled under, and then curled up and tried to get back to sleep. Then the engine sputtered.
That wasn’t good.
It sputtered again, and then the front of the plane lowered and leveled out. Oh God, what was going on?
The engine sputtered again and, again, the plane’s nose lowered, and then leveled.
Then the engine stopped completely. And there was nothing but silence.
3
“SONUVABITCH!” Max checked his instruments. Everything was normal. His fuel was good. He lowered the nose again and restarted the engine.
Somehow the center of gravity had shifted to the rear of the plane. He hadn’t noticed any of the cargo sliding backward. But that’s the only thing it could be. If he didn’t keep his nose down, the engine stalled. Which meant losing altitude. Which meant landing. And fast.
He scanned the ground below for a decent place to set down. The middle of freakin’ nowhere. Again. Memories flashed through his mind’s eye and panic settled in his gut. No. He shook his head, pushed it down. Concentrate, dammit.
He was about forty miles outside Nome. Not much here but tundra. And he wouldn’t be able to take off from tundra.
There. At two o’clock. A frozen lake. He banked to the right and fought to keep the nose down and the flaps steady.
He turned to Mickey, who was strapped in better than Max was. “Brace for impact, buddy. Here goes.”
The wheels touched down and he braked and immediately started to spin over the ice. It took every bit of strength in his left arm to hold the wheel while working the rudder with his right to minimize the spin and keep both wheels down so the plane wouldn’t flip. It was a small lake. He’d run out of ice soon. After three spins, the plane skidded into the embankment and he heard metal snap as the pilot’s side collapsed. Dammit!