License to Thrill Page 24

  She had to do something to gain the upper hand. Think! Think!

  Then from behind her Mason flung sand in Petey’s face and followed that with a fistful of grapes.

  Chaos erupted.

  Petey howled, dropped the flashlight and the gun as he raised his hands to his eyes.

  At the same time, Sal came from behind Petey and dived for his gun.

  Mason, who’d somehow gotten around to her side without Charlee being aware of it, kicked Petey’s gun away just before Sal grabbed for it. Mason’s foot made a solid whacking noise as it contacted against Sal’s hand. The burly thug screamed like a girl.

  Now or never.

  She had to act before Sal or Petey found the gun. Charlee stared down the sight, aimed at Petey’s right shoulder, and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  “Bitch!” Petey screamed, enraged, and lumbered toward her. “You tried to kill me. I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.”

  Desperately, she squeezed the trigger again.

  Click. Click.

  The gun was empty.

  CHAPTER 19

  Plan B.” Mason grabbed her arm and she dropped the useless Glock.

  “Plan B?”

  “Tear ass for the barn.”

  “Right behind you.”

  They took off at a dead run, Sal and Petey cursing and hollering and thrashing around behind them. To Charlee it felt as if they were barely moving, slogging through syrup instead of sand. By the time they reached the barn door and shoved it open, they were panting so hard Charlee feared her lungs would leap right out of her chest.

  “That…” Mason paused to heave in air, “was the i most courageous, most foolhardy stunt I’ve ever seen anyone pull.”

  “See what happens when you live in an ivory tower? You don’t get to meet many brave, foolhardy women.”

  “Charlee, I could search the world over and not find many women as bold as you.”

  “Me? What about you? Flinging sand and grapes in Petey’s face. Stroke of genius, I might add.”

  “I certainly couldn’t let him kill you and I didn’t want you killing him either. It’s a terrible thing carrying the burden of blame for someone’s death.”

  Charlee met his dark, complicated eyes. It sounded as if he spoke from experience, but she had no time to explore his unexpected testimony.

  “We’ve got to barricade the doors.”

  Her gaze scanned the barn. The usual garden stuff. Rusted rakes, hoes, and shovels. A Weed Eater, a collection of weathered two-by-fours, and baling wire. In the middle of the barn sat something large covered with a heavy gray tarp. A tractor maybe?

  Grabbing the hoe, Charlee jammed the handle through the door latch while Mason wedged two-by-four braces between the door and the floor.

  Mere seconds later Sal and Petey slammed into the door from the outside. It shuddered beneath the men’s combined weight, but the blockade held despite their repeated battering.

  In unison Mason and Charlee turned and spotted a large sliding metal door at the rear of the barn. He lunged for the rake and she grabbed a shovel.

  “We’re trapped, you realize,” she said to Mason as they worked frantically to shore up the back door. “There’s no way out of here. We’ve bested them twice, they know what we’re capable of, we won’t catch them with their guards down again. They’re gonna get serious.”

  As if to prove her point, a bullet whizzed past Mason’s ear and smashed into a support beam.

  Another shot and then another. Bullets ricocheted around the barn, zinging off the tin siding and spitting into the dirt floor.

  Charlee covered her ears with her hands, eyed the tarp, and wondered if by some stroke of luck the tractor still ran. If they could get the thing started and crash through the back door…then what?

  Petey and Sal had guns. They did not. And top tractor speed couldn’t be more than twenty or thirty miles an hour. Not nearly fast enough to outrun a bullet.

  But it was the only option her fevered brain could conjure. But what if it wasn’t a tractor? Maybe it was a car. She could hotwire that puppy in sixty seconds flat.

  Yeah, like what were the odds the thing would even run?

  “Fine,” Petey yelled at them. “I’m tired of wastin’ my bullets on you. You can’t get out. We’ve got you surrounded. We can wait.”

  Thank heavens. She could think more clearly without bullets bouncing around the room like pinballs.

  “Charlee,” Mason said, his voice gone deadly hollow, “do you smell gasoline?”

  Their eyes met.

  The air was hot and rich with the pungent odor of petroleum. Mason darted to the front door and peeked out through a bullet hole.

  “They’re pouring gasoline on the barn.”

  “Bastards,” she said vehemently and stalked over to the tarp. Grasping the heavy gray canvas with both hands, she yanked hard.

  And uncovered a single-engine Piper.

  “Great. Just lovely. Isn’t that our rotten luck?” She flung her hands in the air. “We find a plane and neither of us knows how to fly it. Why the hell couldn’t it have been a car or a tractor? I’d have even taken a go-cart.”

  Mason didn’t say a word.

  The gasoline smell grew stronger, permeating the entire barn. It wouldn’t take much to set this pile of kindling ablaze.

  She looked over at him. His face was ashen and she was shocked to see his hands trembling. His gaze was fixed on the plane and he looked as scared as she’d felt when he had plucked the black spider off her shoulder.

  “Mason! What is it?” She sprang to his side. “What’s wrong?”

  He swallowed hard.

  “Talk to me.” She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “What is it?”

  “I know how to fly that plane,” he said.

  “That’s a good thing. Right?”

  Mason shook his head and passed his palm over his chin. His pulse galloped a thousand miles an hour. Fear was a teamster’s fist in his stomach. Just looking at the plane made him nauseous.

  “I’m terrified of flying the same way you’re terrified of black widow spiders.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s crazy. If you’re a pilot, how can you be afraid of flying?” Her voice pleaded for logic, for a lucid explanation.

  “Crash,” he said, his voice sounding eerily robotic. “College freshman. My roommate and I borrowed my father’s plane without permission. Kip was at the controls but I was still responsible. My idea. A freak thunderstorm caught us. Brought the plane down. Kip was killed. My fault.”

  Charlee sucked in her breath. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, but we’re wasting valuable time. You’ve got to fly us out of here or we’re going to end up crispy critters.”

  “Can’t.”

  He didn’t want to be this way, but his limbs were paralyzed, useless. He tried to step toward the plane but even the sound of crackling wood and wisps of smoke seeping through the barn could not propel him forward.

  Every terrifying moment leading up to the plane crash flashed through his mind. The huge fight he and his father had had over Mason’s career path. His father demanding he drop his aviation courses and study finance. The plot he’d hatched to steal his father’s plane to get even. Kip’s enthusiastic support for the idiotic scheme. The savage storm. Kip’s bravado that he could handle the weather. The bone-jarring impact as they hit the ground. The pain that shot through his shattered leg. Kip’s blood on his hands. The cold, hard rain in his face.

  He simply could not get into that plane.

  “Okay,” Charlee said. “I’m going to let you wrestle with those demons, while I hotwire the engine. But you don’t have long to make your decision. Basically here are your choices. Fly us out of here or die.”

  She was right. Simple as that.

  Forget about Kip. Forget about the past. Forget your fear. Think about Charlee.

  Without another word she marched over to the pl
ane and started to climb in. She flung open the door, and then froze.

  “Black widow,” she said.

  “I’ll get it.” For the first time he was able to walk toward the plane.

  She squared her shoulders, tossed her head. “I can handle it.” Then she picked up her foot and crushed the spider beneath the heel of her boot.

  He stared at her, awestruck. The woman was truly and utterly amazing. He would do anything for her. Fight to the death if he had to. Fly that damned plane.

  “Hotwire the sucker,” he said.

  “About time.” She coughed against the rising smoke.

  She tinkered with the engine. Seconds ticked by. Then minutes.

  Smoke thickened, swirled.

  The engine caught, sputtered once and died. Charlee swore and tried again.

  Flames licked across the floor, spreading closer, ever closer.

  The engine sputtered again and lasted a little longer this time before it died.

  Hurry, hurry.

  The third time it worked. The engine turned over and purred.

  The room was unbearably hot, the smoke so thick they could barely breathe.

  “I’ll open the back door,” she wheezed. “As you taxi by I’ll climb on.”

  Mason nodded and slid into the driver’s seat. It’s just like riding a bicycle. You can do it. If Charlee could squash that spider, he could fly the plane.

  She yanked away the garden tools and shoved the door open while he set the plane in motion. The minute he committed himself, his fear evaporated and his long-forgotten joy in flying lifted inside him.

  Charlee climbed into the passenger seat, grinning like he’d just won the powerball lottery. Hell, he felt as if he had just won the powerball lottery.

  He gave the plane more gas, it jolted forward and they shot out the door. He pulled back on the throttle and they were airborne.

  A triumphant cry burst from his lips. Ha! He had done it.

  “Oops, here comes Dumb and Dumber.”

  Sal and Petey charged around the back of the burning barn but they were too late. The plane had already climbed thirty feet.

  “Bye!” Charlee leaned out the window and waved.

  For a minute there Mason thought Petey was going to shoot the plane, but obviously he thought better of firing a bullet straight into the air, because he holstered his gun.

  Sal screamed at Petey. Petey flipped Sal off.

  Mason grinned and grinned and grinned.

  And then he got a bird’s-eye view of the barn completely engulfed in flames and his heart rocketed into his throat. Dark, oily smoke spiraled skyward. If they had waited very much longer it would have been too late to escape.

  At the thought of losing Charlee, his chest constricted.

  “Yahoo!”

  He glanced at her. She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. The warmth of her lips branded the moment in time.

  “You were totally and completely awesome. I am so proud of you,” she said.

  “I’ve got to confess, if you hadn’t had the courage to stomp on that black widow I don’t know if I could have snapped out of my terror.”

  “Oh, really?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “You inspired me.”

  “I’m guessing this might be a bad time to tell you I faked it. There wasn’t any black widow. I pretended to squash a spider. Pretty smart of me, huh?” She looked like a schoolkid who’d made the honor roll for the first time.

  “Babe,” he said, “you’re unbelievable.”

  The sun was up and the sky was clear. Fire engines wailed in the distance. He spotted the Chevy Malibu tearing off down the road at a frantic clip. Sal and Petey on the lam.

  Mason took the plane higher, ascending several hundred feet into the air and followed the road west, stunned at how good he felt. How alive.

  He’d been taken prisoner, tied up, shot at, burned out, and forced to face his greatest fear. And he had never been happier in his entire life. How sick was that?

  All thanks to Charlee.

  She was the magnet that picked up the shattered, scattered filaments of the daring youth he’d once been and she’d put him back together again. He felt reborn. A new man. A new start. A new life.

  A life he ached to share with Charlee. But was he in love alone?

  Glancing over at her, he experienced the strangest tightening in his chest. He studied her profile, admired the way her cheek curved, the way her glossy black hair fell to her shoulders and beyond. She was dirty and soot-stained and her blouse was torn but he had never seen a prettier sight.

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Watch what you’re doing, cowboy. From what you told me back there I’m assuming your flying skills are rusty.”

  “I mean it, you’re drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “Ha. I’m not sleek and petite like Daphne.”

  “Thank God.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re you. Every wonderful inch of you.”

  She gave him a look.

  “What? You are wonderful.”

  “And you’re drunk on courage. Fly the plane.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He couldn’t stop grinning.

  “You know what I wish?”

  “What?”

  “I wish I had a tall glass of sweet tea with lots of crushed ice.” Charlee sighed. “I could suck down two gallons.”

  “I wish I had a cheeseburger and fries.”

  “No kidding? You?”

  “It is my favorite food, remember?”

  “It’s Skeet’s favorite food. Not yours.”

  “Fat and protein sound like heaven to me right now.”

  “I can do you one better. I’m so hungry I’d even eat some of those gross fish eggs you’re so wild about.”

  “Better watch out, Charlee Champagne,” he teased. “We’re starting to rub off on each other.”

  “Egads!” She chuckled. “What is the world coming to?”

  What indeed? In four short days everything in his life had changed. On the surface, it had changed for the worst. But why did he feel freer than he had ever felt in his life?

  She cleared her throat a few minutes later. “You might want to consider not flying beside the road.”

  Mason looked down, saw the Malibu speeding along behind them and his grin disappeared. “They’ve got to be doing ninety to keep up with us.”

  “All this brouhaha for a rigged Oscar? I don’t get it.”

  “Oscar wins are a big deal,” he said, angling the plane north out across the desert. “Winning one can shoot an actor from unknown status to the exclusive twenty-million-dollars-a-picture club and it can mean billions of dollars for the studio involved.”

  “Do you suppose the accounting firm has been cooking the books on the awards ever since 1955?”

  That was a chilling thought. Mason pressed his lips together. Since Cahill’s revelation he’d been too busy dodging bullets and running for his life to fully consider the implications. But now, reality sank in.

  His grandfather and his entire family’s reputation hung in the balance. That’s why Gramps had taken off alone. Somehow he’d found out about the bastardized accounting practices. That was why he had kept silent until he’d had a chance to investigate for himself. And that was probably why Nolan had taken the half-million dollars. He hadn’t known ahead of time who he might have to bribe, hire, or hush up, so he’d taken enough money to cover any eventuality.

  A spear of worry arrowed through him when he thought about Nolan and Maybelline. Where were they? If Cahill didn’t have them, had Elwood recaptured them? And just where did Charlee’s father factor in this whole Oscar scenario?

  One thing was certain. They couldn’t worry about Maybelline and Nolan. Not right now.

  Top priority, they had to get to L.A. before the Academy Awards ceremony, audit the votes, and announce the real winner of the best supporting actor category. If he couldn’t prevent Blade Bradford from
getting the award, his entire family fortune would be destroyed.

  But they had plenty of time. It wasn’t even seven o’clock in the morning and L.A. was less than two hundred miles away. The Academy Awards didn’t start until seven. That gave them a full twelve hours. No sweat. They would even have time for a meal, a shower, and a change of clothes.

  And then the airplane sputtered ominously. Startled, his gaze shifted to the instrument panel.

  The engine coughed. Once, twice, three times.

  “Uh-oh,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Look around. Quick. Help me find a good place to land.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re out of gas.”

  Charlee ran a hand through her tangled hair and shook her head. She wanted to whine, but she was tougher than that. It seemed as if they’d been walking for weeks.

  She was tired and hungry and thirsty. Her boots were rubbing blisters on her heels, her nose was sunburned, and she smelled of sweat and dirt and smoke and general run-of-the-mill funk. She wished for her cowboy hat and sunscreen and two dozen Band-Aids. She wished for toothpaste and a hairbrush and toilet paper.

  But mostly, she wished for water. Cool, clear water.

  So much for tough. Apparently, she was as soft as the next girl.

  Mason had safely landed the plane, albeit in the middle of a cactus patch. Gingerly, they’d clambered out only to realize with despair they had no idea where they were.

  It was long past noon, edging on toward one-thirty, she guessed.

  “We’ve got to get to L.A. before the Oscars tonight,” Mason said. They walked side by side, kicking up sand and dust behind them.

  “So you told me. About a hundred times.”

  “I can’t stress how important this is.”

  “I get it, I get it, but what can we do about it, Mason? We can’t even find the friggin’ highway and if we did, for all we know Sal and Petey are trolling it with orders from Cahill to shoot on sight.”

  “It’s a big stretch of road between here and L.A. Sorry, but Petey and Sal just aren’t that good.”

  “Hey, maybe even as we speak your grandfather is taking care of all this. Right now he and Maybelline could be at the accounting firm running roughshod on the number crunchers.”

  “We can hope.”