Crash Landing. Becky Avella

      His voice lowered in volume, making it more difficult for Sean to hear through the garage walls. But it was the last part he heard that mattered.

      “You find them,” Turner commanded. “You shoot them. It’s that simple.”

      * * *

      Deanna groaned softly. She and Sean had escaped one cage today only to find themselves in another one.

      She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. It had been only the span of an afternoon, but she was battle weary, tired of fighting to stay alive. How good would it feel to be back in Kinakane with Gram making coffee, with nothing bigger to worry about than money and Blake. The things that had weighed her down back at The Hangar earlier today seemed so trivial now. Bankruptcy didn’t seem that scary anymore. Even the fires seemed farther away. Being shot at had a way of putting life back into proper perspective.

      There had to be some way to let someone know what was happening to them. But there wasn’t. Without phones, they couldn’t even dial 911. She thought of Harley Hopkins and how helpless and panicked he must have felt out in Scotch Creek when he was having his heart attack, unable to call for help.

      No superhero or police officer was going to come crashing in to save the day here, either. Their only hope was themselves.

      Wasn’t that true about life in general anyway? She was responsible for fixing her own messes. This mess just happened to have higher stakes than she was used to. It was bigger than she knew how to fix.

      Her dad had tried to drill that lesson into her. “You need to have the skills to take care of yourself,” he told her. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and if you are going to survive in it, you have to look out for number one.”

      He might be the king of clichés, but he’d gotten his point across. And when she was only five years old, he gave her plenty of practice at being independent. He was tired of Kinakane and restless. Alaska called to him, as he put it. When the right job offer finally came through, he left her with Gram.

      “It’s just a job, Dee-girl. I’ll be back soon,” he promised. He kept up the pretense for about a year, sending her scenic postcards of the Alaskan wilderness with even more promises, “Looking at all this beauty reminds me of my beautiful girl. I’ll be home soon, sweetheart.”

      But “soon” never came, and she’d quickly learned that he was right. She couldn’t count on anyone but herself. She squared her shoulders. She would not be a damsel in distress here, either. Time to save herself.

      Sean scratched the side of his head. “We need a plan.”

      “No, we need to get out of here.”

      “I know, but as soon as I open this garage door, they’ll be on us.”

      “We can make all the plans we want, but it’s time to choose. Sit in here and wait or take charge.” She put her hands on her hips and tried to stand taller. “We need to take the power back,” she said. “Otherwise we might as well go out there and hand ourselves over now.”

      Sean’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all good in theory. But you still haven’t given me anything we can act on. They’ve got orders to silence us. They’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

      The shotgun that Sean took off Nathan Reid had been left behind inside his uncle’s house. Without any shells, it wasn’t worth lugging around, but Deanna still had her Glock, and she’d reloaded it before they left the airplane. She had about eight rounds. Was that enough to shoot their way out in a blaze of glory?

      The walls hiding them from the armed men were thin and uninsulated. She could hear them coming closer. Her gaze jerked over to the truck. “What if we don’t open the garage door at all?”

      “You mean stay in here?” Sean spun around like he was playing a game of hide-and-seek, looking for the best hiding spot.

      “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “What if...” She hesitated. This was action-movie, stuntman-type stuff she was thinking up. “What if we gun the truck and bust through the garage door?”

      Sean blinked at her, the expression on his face dumbfounded. He probably thought she was insane. But he’d been thinking that all day.

      “What?” she challenged. He wasn’t coming up with any better ideas. “You have to admit it would give us that element of surprise you’re always talking about.”

      A slow smile spread across his tan face, softening the chiseled stone. He really did have an amazing smile.

      “You are certifiable, you know that?” Sean said.

      “You’ve told me that a couple times today. Looks to me like doing something crazy is our only option.”

      She patted the truck’s hood gently. “You’re not afraid of letting this beast get a few scrapes, are you?” she whispered.

      “Get in,” Sean said.

      Deanna settled into her seat, easing the truck door shut as quietly as she could.

      Sean chuckled softly. “What is it you like to say? Hold on? Get ready? Oh, I know.” He winked. “Brace yourself, Deanna. This might be a bumpy ride.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. You know there are guys out there with guns that want to kill us, right? You could get going anytime now.”

      Sean pushed the key into the ignition and turned a satisfied smirk toward her. “It’s just nice to be in the driver’s seat for once.”

      “Don’t get used to it, cowboy.” Deanna stared at the solid wall in front of them. She did not like being in the passenger seat like this. Her idea had felt more right in theory than it did in actual execution.

      “Oh man. You were right. This really is nuts,” she whispered.

      “Nah, I prefer to think of it as being brave,” Sean whispered back. “Ready?”

      No, but she nodded anyway. The engine growled a few sleepy grumbles before it finally roared to life.

      “Here we go!” Sean hollered, slamming his boot against the accelerator.

      Deanna jerked backward, held hard against the ripped upholstery as the truck lurched forward, punching a hole through the old garage door. Pieces of broken wood and splinters flew around them as the old Ford broke free. It was easier than she’d thought, like a football team running through a butcher-paper sign before a high school game.

      The shocked expressions on the men’s faces probably mirrored her own. Rex Turner had approximately two seconds to dive out of their way to avoid getting run over. Profanity rang through the air as the three men scrambled to start the pursuit.