Ghostrider - M. L. Buchman Page 0,34

out of her system.

Every bit of physical need.

A glance aloft. Parachute was full and flying clean. The ocean was still a few hundred feet below.

But her brain was still in high gear.

Which one of the three men would make the best father? That was a question she’d never asked herself before. Now that she had, the answer was pretty damn obvious.

There was only one problem.

She was supposed to be the third person left on the plane, not Master Sergeant Pierre Jones.

20

The spin was still pulling hard as Pierre stumbled up the ladder to the cockpit level. It was raised eight feet above the main deck, tucked inside the upper curve of the nose.

The two pilots were sitting in their seats as calmly as if nothing was happening.

“All clear. Let’s go!” He held onto the handrail several feet behind the pilots’ seats and shouted above the roar that echoed through the plane. Between the big engines and the open door just at the base of the cockpit ladder, he could barely hear himself.

Tango might have said something like, “About time.” But Pierre couldn’t have heard that right.

Rather than yanking off his harness, Gutz reached forward to the control cluster.

Pierre wasn’t a pilot, but he’d been aboard planes for his entire Air Force career. Gutz unfeathered the props on three of the engines. Suddenly the doomed Ghostrider was flying perfectly. It eased out of the spin less than fifty feet above the shining waves.

To the airmen who’d parachuted into the water, it would appear that the plane had gone down out of sight.

“Good. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Tango eased back in his seat.

The plane was fine.

They were…stealing the goddamn plane?

It was the only thing that fit.

While he’d been briefly enjoying the best feel-up ever—despite the flightsuits and parachute harnesses—the pair of pilots had been hijacking two hundred million dollars of airplane.

Pierre slapped for his sidearm, but he’d lost it somewhere in the rough and tumble of getting Rosa to safety. A quick scan around revealed that the only handy weapons were the pilots’ sidearms.

Bad gamble, Pierre.

Tango shouted over his shoulder. “Close the goddamn door, Rosa. We’ve got a long flight, my favorite piece of poontang. And Tango is so gonna nail you with his monster harpoon. I’m gonna fuck you right up against your console the whole way to base.”

Gutz twisted hard to stare at Tango.

Blind shock. Easy to see in profile from his position behind them.

Pierre had known that Rosa slept with Tango Torres. Apparently she’d also slept with Gutz Gutierrez without letting on to either one. And now she’d kissed him like she meant it? What the hell?

“First in front, then behind, then I’ll give you primetime Tango right up your perfect ass.” Torres kept checking over the flight instruments, wholly unaware of his copilot’s attention.

Gutz’s shock slid over to fury.

Frozen in the aisle two steps behind the seats, Pierre saw the motion.

His shout was instinctive—and incredibly stupid.

Gutz had pulled out his sidearm. But he was right-handed and sitting in the right-hand seat belonging to the copilot. He had to bring his weapon clear of the control yoke and fully around his body.

Pierre’s shout was enough warning for Tango.

In a single action, Tango looked at Gutz, registered the fury so deep only death could wear it, yanked his sidearm, and shot Gutz in the head.

Blood splatter painted the side window lurid red.

Gutz’s dying shot went wild, shattering the windscreen directly in front of Tango.

In turning to shoot his copilot, Tango had twisted far enough to spot Pierre.

He tried to keep turning, but was trapped by his seat harness from bringing his weapon to bear.

Pierre stumbled backward, tripped, and landed flat on his back. Padded by the parachute, it was only remarkably painful.

Tango switched hands to aim around the side of the pilot’s seat.

His shot passed through where Pierre’s heart had been half a second earlier.

Pierre rolled left and tumbled down the stairs to land facedown on the cargo deck.

Everything hurt, but he was safe—Tango had to fly the plane.

But it would take Tango mere seconds to engage the autopilot, then he’d come hunt Pierre down.

The wide-open door beckoned. Though the ocean was so close that survival would be a fool’s gamble.

He looked at the open door. Remembered the feel of Rosa Cruz in his arms for even a moment.

Dying was going to suck.

But if he jumped, Tango might still get away with stealing the Ghostrider. Better to destroy it than let such a powerful weapon fall into