Come on, come on, come on . . .
There. Between the trees, he caught sight of a forest road and aimed for it. It would be close. The trees were dense in places. Worst case, the wheels on his fixed-gear plane would catch the treetops and flip him forward. Dead or alive, he’d be stuck in the tops.
Come on, baby, you can do this.
Palms sweating, he squeezed the yoke. Continuing the mantra in his head, he willed Ole Blue to stay in the air just a little longer. When he’d proclaimed today was his last delivery, he hadn’t meant that to be a literal prophecy.
He mentally shook his fist at God. You hear that? I didn’t mean I wanted to die today. I just meant I’m done doing what I do.
A thousand thoughts blew through his mind at once, not the least of which was that if he made it, if he survived, he’d have to file a crash report with the NTSB. He was only supposed to take his flight bag from the crash site, but he’d have to make an exception this time and remove the package he was supposed to deliver.
The treetops reached up for Ole Blue, their lofty trunks and branches growing taller as if they would stretch to catch the plane’s wheels. The Piper shuddered. Chance held his breath, working the yoke until, finally, he maneuvered above the narrow road.
Lower, lower, lower . . .
The wheels touched down, and the plane bounced hard.
Trees closed in on the narrowing road. Chance braced himself. The wingtips caught the trees. The sound of metal twisting and ripping vibrated through him as the tin can protecting him shook and rattled. The impact shattered the window and catapulted what was left of his plane, and Chance’s body was flung like a rag doll despite the shoulder harness. Ole Blue slammed against a tree on the passenger side, crumpling the only door. Chance’s head hit the yoke handle. Thunder ignited in his temples as pain throbbed across his chest.
But the plane had stopped. Finally . . .
Seconds ticked by. He drew in a few shuddering, painful breaths. Allowed his heart rate to slow.
Chance assessed his injuries. He could move his legs and arms. Maybe he had a few broken ribs. He touched his head and felt the warm, sticky fluid. Blood covered his fingertips. He stared at the tree branch protruding through the shattered window, caught a whiff of pine from the needles, and tried to grasp the near miss. He could have been skewered. That was only one of many possible fatal injuries that could occur in a plane crash. How . . . how had he survived?
He wouldn’t waste time questioning Providence. For the moment, he was alive. But for how much longer?
And trusty Ole Blue was gone for good. Myriad emotions—anger, fear, grief—seized him all at once. His pulse raced again as dizziness swept over him.
He fought the darkness edging his vision.
Why had he harbored an ounce of hope that he would be able to walk away from this unscathed? He wished he hadn’t broken his one rule and looked at the contents of that package.
If he wasn’t able to deliver it, he was as good as dead anyway.
TWO
Grayback County Sheriff’s Detective Jack Tanner dropped his forty-pound SAR—search and rescue—pack next to his boots.
He let his gaze slide down the five-hundred-foot cliff, a slab of granite left behind when this side of the mountain gave way a century ago. Evergreens—spruce, pine, and cedar—surrounded him and filled the landscape below as well.
Kylie, a volunteer with Grayback County Search and Rescue Dogs, stood next to her black lab. “George caught a scent and”—she gestured below, her frown deepening—“it ends here.”
She didn’t need to explain that George was a wilderness area search dog and that meant he would alert to any humans in the search area, not simply track a specific human’s scent. Still, using the dogs to search covered much more terrain when minutes counted.
Please let it not be the twins.
Because the dog had caught a scent that ended here didn’t mean the girls had taken a tumble. The Emmer twins—Tanya and Kendra—had gotten lost while hiking with their dad—Ross Emmer. Jack’s gut clenched at the possibility that they had fallen. The county sheriff’s department was responsible for search and rescue missions in all of Grayback County, and though Jack had been on the team only a few short months, he knew to pray for the best and prepare for the worst.
But he didn’t want to prepare for the worst and accept that the twins could be gone.
He peered through his binoculars at the tops of evergreens below. This region of the national forest had seen more than its fair share of incidents—including the small plane crash only yesterday. Fortunately, the pilot had survived.
Through the treetops, Jack could make out the Grayback River in the distance, carving its way between mountains, through canyons and meadows, all the way to Yellowstone National Park, located seventy miles south in the northwest corner of Wyoming.
As he looked through the binoculars, he hoped he wouldn’t find anything, but, of course, there may be something—or someone—to find. If there was someone to find, he prayed they were alive. He released his pent-up breath. “I don’t see anything.”
Except birds circling above. Never a good sign, but scavengers could circle for a number of reasons.
Adjusting his binoculars, he shifted to peer at the bottom of the ridge. Wait. Maybe. Oh no. “Yeah, I think I see something.” Jack cleared his throat. “Someone.”
Next to him, Kylie remained silent while George panted.
Jack’s gut dropped with the falling sensation experienced on an amusement ride. Or . . . falling from a cliff.
“What are you going to do?”
“Gear up.”
Kylie blew out a breath. “That’s a big drop, Jack.”
“I’ve got enough gear to rappel. Trust me, it’s the one thing I’m good at.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, or you wouldn’t be a detective with the county.”
Jack couldn’t think of a decent response.
Kylie
