of debris. "That's the only way he could have gotten access."
Elizabeth didn't need him to say who "he" was.
She was being hunted. Twice in less than twenty-four hours Jorak Zhukov had tried to end her life, all because her family had been instrumental in bringing his father to justice. The knowledge of how close he'd come to succeeding chilled.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she stared at the sunlight glinting through the thick pine forest and wondered how in the world a search-and-rescue party would find them. If they would find them. She'd done her best to radio their coordinates during those frantic final moments, but she couldn't be sure the transmission had gone through. Days could pass before they were found. Nights. Long, cold nights. Alone. With Hawk.
The thought unsettled her in ways she didn't want to analyze.
He stood across the clearing, a tall man against a backdrop of pine, some downed by the plane, others standing tall. Big black birds circled against a sky as crisply blue as the one into which she'd first taken flight. Beyond, rugged mountains jutted up against the horizon. Snow already blanketed the highest peaks.
They really were in the middle of nowhere. Alone, but alive.
"What can I do to help?" she asked, moving toward him. He had his shirtsleeves rolled up now, and if she didn't look too closely, it would be easy to mistake the bloodstains on the gray cotton for perspiration.
He pulled his gym bag from under one of the seats and slung it toward the edge of the clearing, where her roll-aboard lay on its side. "See if you can find the first-aid kit. It must have been thrown on impact."
Debris lay strewn everywhere, leather seat cushions, oxygen masks, a silver lockbox, recent editions of Fortune and Golf Digest. Her throat tightened when she remembered the huge smile on her father's face when he'd acquired the Lear. He'd said the plane afforded them a freedom they'd never had before. It had seemed like a perfect plan.
There's no such thing as a perfect plan, Hawk had once told her. There's always a weak spot, a vulnerability. There's always a way to intervene.
Frowning, she started to turn toward the wreckage, but went very still instead. The big black birds were gone, their caw replaced by a low rumble on the horizon. "Wesley—"
But he'd already heard. He stood at his full height, the lines of his face tight and his eyes narrow. "Shh."
Excitement surged, followed by a quick punch of alarm. The plane had come down in a pine forest. Without smoke, it was questionable whether a search-and-rescue team would see them.
And then she remembered the lockbox.
Her heart burst into a staccato rhythm. She ran for the silver box and fumbled with the fasteners, then reached inside and grabbed one of three flares. One quick shot and—
Wesley's hand came down on hers, knocking the flare to the ground. "No, damn it!"
"Are you out of your mind? We have to get their attention."
"Do we?" he asked with a chilling softness. "Are you sure?"
She didn't understand the hard glint to his eyes. "We don't have much time. They're looking for us. We've got to get their attention."
"And just how do you know who they are?"
She frowned. "What?"
"There's more than one person looking for you, Elizabeth. Do you really want to announce our location until you know who's in that helicopter?"
The question was hard, and it stopped her cold. "You think it's Zhukov?"
Hawk took her hand and practically dragged her to the edge of the clearing cut by the plane. "It's too soon for a formal search party." He led her into a dense cluster of pine. "To be here, now, someone would need advance knowledge of what was going down." A hard sound ripped from his throat. "No pun intended."
Elizabeth 's throat tightened. "But if Zhukov sabotaged the plane, he'll think we're dead."
"Maybe." Hawk stopped abruptly and looked into her eyes. "And maybe he just wants to admire his handiwork."
* * *
"Stay here until I get back."
Hidden
Elizabeth didn't need him to say who "he" was.
She was being hunted. Twice in less than twenty-four hours Jorak Zhukov had tried to end her life, all because her family had been instrumental in bringing his father to justice. The knowledge of how close he'd come to succeeding chilled.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she stared at the sunlight glinting through the thick pine forest and wondered how in the world a search-and-rescue party would find them. If they would find them. She'd done her best to radio their coordinates during those frantic final moments, but she couldn't be sure the transmission had gone through. Days could pass before they were found. Nights. Long, cold nights. Alone. With Hawk.
The thought unsettled her in ways she didn't want to analyze.
He stood across the clearing, a tall man against a backdrop of pine, some downed by the plane, others standing tall. Big black birds circled against a sky as crisply blue as the one into which she'd first taken flight. Beyond, rugged mountains jutted up against the horizon. Snow already blanketed the highest peaks.
They really were in the middle of nowhere. Alone, but alive.
"What can I do to help?" she asked, moving toward him. He had his shirtsleeves rolled up now, and if she didn't look too closely, it would be easy to mistake the bloodstains on the gray cotton for perspiration.
He pulled his gym bag from under one of the seats and slung it toward the edge of the clearing, where her roll-aboard lay on its side. "See if you can find the first-aid kit. It must have been thrown on impact."
Debris lay strewn everywhere, leather seat cushions, oxygen masks, a silver lockbox, recent editions of Fortune and Golf Digest. Her throat tightened when she remembered the huge smile on her father's face when he'd acquired the Lear. He'd said the plane afforded them a freedom they'd never had before. It had seemed like a perfect plan.
There's no such thing as a perfect plan, Hawk had once told her. There's always a weak spot, a vulnerability. There's always a way to intervene.
Frowning, she started to turn toward the wreckage, but went very still instead. The big black birds were gone, their caw replaced by a low rumble on the horizon. "Wesley—"
But he'd already heard. He stood at his full height, the lines of his face tight and his eyes narrow. "Shh."
Excitement surged, followed by a quick punch of alarm. The plane had come down in a pine forest. Without smoke, it was questionable whether a search-and-rescue team would see them.
And then she remembered the lockbox.
Her heart burst into a staccato rhythm. She ran for the silver box and fumbled with the fasteners, then reached inside and grabbed one of three flares. One quick shot and—
Wesley's hand came down on hers, knocking the flare to the ground. "No, damn it!"
"Are you out of your mind? We have to get their attention."
"Do we?" he asked with a chilling softness. "Are you sure?"
She didn't understand the hard glint to his eyes. "We don't have much time. They're looking for us. We've got to get their attention."
"And just how do you know who they are?"
She frowned. "What?"
"There's more than one person looking for you, Elizabeth. Do you really want to announce our location until you know who's in that helicopter?"
The question was hard, and it stopped her cold. "You think it's Zhukov?"
Hawk took her hand and practically dragged her to the edge of the clearing cut by the plane. "It's too soon for a formal search party." He led her into a dense cluster of pine. "To be here, now, someone would need advance knowledge of what was going down." A hard sound ripped from his throat. "No pun intended."
Elizabeth 's throat tightened. "But if Zhukov sabotaged the plane, he'll think we're dead."
"Maybe." Hawk stopped abruptly and looked into her eyes. "And maybe he just wants to admire his handiwork."
* * *
"Stay here until I get back."
Hidden
Similar Books
