The Cessna descended toward the blinking runway lights on the earthen runway. The rear wheels kissed the strip with an end to yet another of Bo's flawless flights that inspired such confidence in his skill.

He slowed, the flared nose of the plane easing down. The plane's landing light stretched forward to reveal...a dead horse.

"What the hell is that—" Bo straightened in his seat and shouted, "Brace yourselves!"

Chapter 16

Damn, damn, damn it, they were going to crash.

Bo pulled back on the yoke. Not enough speed to take off. Too much to turn away, which would almost certainly start a tumble. But at least he could get the vulnerable nose gear up again—hopefully. The nose wheel would easily shear off, but the back gear should hold. A jarring way to stop, but a helluva lot safer.

"Come on, come on, come on. Up, damn it," he chanted to the straining Cessna.

Crap. Not going to work. He hammered the brakes. Kirstie's screams bounced through the craft, echoed in his ears.

Denial roared through his veins. But he wouldn't allow emotions to assume control, especially not with Paige's and Kirstie's lives at stake. Training-honed instincts overrode all else, especially too-distracting memories of the shoot down in Rubistan.

 Snap. Jolt. The front gear popped off.

Protect Paige and Kirstie. The mantra pulsed through him in time with the teeth-jarring thud of the Cessna against the barrier. The nose slammed over and into the dirt. The seat belt cut into him as his weight pressed forward. The plane shuddered to a halt.

Dust cleared to expose three figures looming beside a large vehicle with headlights streaking ahead. The moon eased from behind a cloud with enough illumination to reveal...

A Suburban. Anderson's. The man stood still and tall, flanked by two men. None of them moving to help or giving any signs of distress over the emergency. Moonbeams glinted off three weapons pointed directly at the plane.

Damn. They'd been lured here. That dead horse on the runway was no accident, although it would surely appear accidental to investigators later, since animals wandered into the road frequently in this area.

He only had a minute at most to speak to Paige and Kirstie away from the others. He needed to make the most of every second and bring Paige up to speed since she was still focused on Kirstie, both pale but seemingly unharmed.

"Paige, you need to look outside. Now."

Her gasp swelled through the Cessna. "Ohmigod."

"Wait and let them come to us." Which would buy him time to think and strategize. "Is everyone okay? Paige? Kirstie?"

He couldn't afford to take his eyes off the men outside again. He reached by touch to snag his cell phone out of his duffel bag full of flight gear, the stench of the smoking engine an acrid reminder they could well be screwed inside the plane, as well.

"I'm fine," Paige answered, her voice shaky but strong considering the hellish situation.

Thank God.

"Me, too," Kirstie whispered. "What's going on? I'm scared."

He allowed himself a quick heartbeat of relief, holding the cell low and out of sight while he thumbed 911. "Paige, no matter what, keep Kirstie close to you."

Kirstie leaned. "Who are you c—"

The side door jerked open. Crap. He inched the cell phone under his seat and prayed someone was on the other end of the line listening. Tough to count on reliable cell tower coverage out-here, but he would relay as much as possible on the off chance the cops could hear. "Anderson, put down the gun. We don't want anyone to get hurt, Chuck."

There. He'd gotten both the man's first and last name out in a normal sounding way. He forced himself to think, stay cool. He wouldn't let this be a repeat of his capture in Rubistan where people were hurt because of his recklessness.

"We'll talk outside the plane." The twin beams of the Suburban headlights backlit the beefy farmer, casting his face in shadows. "Now put your hands where I can see them."

Bo leaned to climb out ahead of the others, keeping them inside the safety of the plane as long as possible.

Anderson shook his head. "Nu-uh, Rokowsky. Kirstie comes out first."

Eyes adjusting to the dark while Anderson lifted out the child, Bo studied the other two men—one of Anderson's stable hands in a repairman's uniform shirt holding a Glock.

Damned if he didn't look like the fast glimpse of the air show "Eddie" who'd spoken to Kirstie.

Bo checked the third and final gun-toting goon. The crummy substitute pilot? Rusty something-or-another, and he obviously had a connection to Anderson. Rusty wasn't messing around here either, not with an AR-15 held hip level. That assault rifle carried too much firepower for his peace of mind.

The odds were crap, three men with guns. There wasn't a chance in hell they would let them walk out of this alive, now that they'd been identified. Hopefully, the 911 call would net results. Fast. He'd left the phone on for the dispatcher to listen while he stalled and prayed.

If help didn't arrive in time out here in the middle of nowhere? He would have to take them all out. He'd kicked ass against larger groups than this growing up, and over things not nearly as important. In fact, there was nothing more important in his world than the woman and child with him.

Bo vaulted to the ground and reached back to grasp Paige's waist, lifting her out of the plane. Their eyes met and held in dim starlight. The gentle give of her warmth under his hands fired more resolve through him. He gave her waist a light squeeze and hoped it said enough. How he loved her, admired her. How he wouldn't let her or her child down.

Kirstie sniffled louder, hiccups turning into tears. She cried, extending her arms, damn near cutting Bo's heart out. "I want my mama! Eddie, tell these guys to stop."

"Make the brat shut up." Anderson shoved Kirstie toward her mother, all but dumping her at Paige's feet even while keeping his weapon level and steady. "We need her calm enough to talk."

Paige's arms went around Kirstie, tucking her close and behind.

Kirstie? They needed Kirstie to talk?

He would wager money Vic had been lured away on a bogus call tonight so Paige would have to come. Given the recent scare, she was certain to bring Kirstie along.

Anderson circled Paige, Kirstie scurrying in a circle around her mother's legs to escape.

"You could have made this so easy if only you'd let Rusty here fly for you. Or even if you'd spent a little time with me, leaned, trusted. I would have taken care of you and your kid. I've been patient for damn near a year now."

Logic shuffled the jarring pieces into place. Hadn't Seth's accident even occurred at the Anderson place when he'd fallen through rotten boards in a nearly new barn? Rusty must have been sent as a plant inside Paige's home for whatever hell this bastard had in mind.

Until Bo had ruined that plan by offering to fly instead. Could problems with the plane also have been a frustrated effort to run them out of business so she would need to "lean on him" as the bastard had put it?

Bo stepped between Rusty's AR-15 and Paige. "I don't know what the hell's going on here, but how about we let Kirstie climb into your Suburban—" which would offer more shelter from flying bullets "—and then we can talk."

Anderson's 9 mm never wavered from Kirstie, threatening the person guaranteed to keep them both in line. "I'm afraid we can't do that since apparently she has information good ol' Kurt failed to supply before he died."

What did Anderson and the two goons flanking him have to do with Kurt Haugen's dealings? "That's why you've been speaking to her?"

"Not at first. We just wanted to track her mother's movements in case anything new came to light about Kurt's finances." Angling closer to Paige, Anderson tsk, tsk, tsked. "That damn screwup died without telling us where he'd hidden the money he planned to use when he moved his family out of the country. Stupid fool. There's no getting out of this business once you're in."

Anderson glided his knuckles down Paige's cheek. A hazy red rage threatened to fog Bo's brain as he watched her struggle not to wince. The fighter inside him longed to lash out and end it now, but he wouldn't let impulsive arrogance dictate his actions now as he'd done in Rubistan.

Keep cool. Logical. Be patient and wait.

Paige inched farther in front of her daughter. "You're a part of what he was mixed up in?

Drug trafficking?"

"I travel enough to trade shows that no one questions the movements of my shipments, some of them from Kurt." Anderson shifted his 9 mm to the middle of Paige's chest, stalling any of Bo's plans to jockey into a better position. "Except he held on to the final payment. All the selfish bastard ever said was that he'd hidden the lockbox with the information and we'd never find it."

Watch. Wait. Paige was buying them time with her questions, answers hopefully floating right through the cell phone inside the open plane. He kept his hands loose, ready to act.

"But you had him killed so he wouldn't finger you."

"Not me. Higher-ups who didn't care about his money, small pickings for them. If they'd been a little more patient, we could have had it all. I was almost ready to give up on you and then your lawyer found that safe deposit box."

"How did you—"

"That little break-in put us onto your lawyer. Nice touch with stealing the drugs, don't you think? Anyhow, your lawyer had impeccable credentials—but his paralegal? Not so much. She rolled for a pittance."

"You set up the purse snatcher?"

"I couldn't take the chance you would turn the contents of the box over to the police."

Anderson stepped back, nodding to Eddie. "Enough already, for Pete's sake. There's no more time for finesse. Get to it."

The big blond guy with his bushy eyebrows knelt and peered around Paige's leg at the cowering kid. "Miss Kirstie Adella, let's talk some more about the poems and fairy tales your daddy mentioned in his letter. Did any of those include a buried treasure?"

The man tipped a knuckle under her quivering chin. Kirstie scuttled farther behind her mother.

Bo watched—still logical, still planning, even as he realized rage wasn't red after all. It was a deep purple, darkening his vision into a tunnel.

His world narrowed to the two females beside him. He would die before he let even one of these bastards hurt either Paige or Kirstie.

They were all going to die.

Paige couldn't ignore the obvious reality as clear as the determination in Bo's eyes. They were going to have to fight three armed men while somehow protecting Kirstie if the cops didn't show up very soon. These were heartless criminals who held guns on a child and sacrificed a helpless animal for their own greed. They were beyond reason.

Panic lashed through her even as she accepted there was no other way. But Bo wouldn't be fighting alone. She would claw her way through this for her child—and for him.

Bo had the training, so she waited for his cue to spring. She never once doubted that he would fling himself between them and danger. This man would never risk a hair on her child's head.

Paige gripped her daughter tight against her, fear icing her veins. What the hell had Kurt planted in that letter and in their daughter's memory?

Kirstie turned tearful eyes up, clinging harder. "Mama?"

Rusty vaulted forward, rough hands reaching to grab Paige's arms, twisting and tugging her around by pinning both wrists behind her until they burned in their sockets.

Bo growled. Kirstie whimpered.

Paige went slack in Rusty's grip before either of them suffered from defending her. She shuddered to think of how many trips she'd made out here alone to Chuck Anderson's place, this danger lurking. "It's okay, punkin. I'm all right. Go ahead and talk to him."