TRAPPED (4 page)

“Uh...why do you ask?”

“Well, I don’t mean to be a meddling old lady, but I heard what he said. He didn’t sound very happy to see you. And you looked very surprised to see him.”

“We knew each other a long time ago. It’s been thirteen years since we saw each other.”

“Did you work together?”

“No. We were...” Friends. Lovers. For a minute, she considered lying about it. But she’d stopped running from the truth some time ago. “We were engaged,” she said. “And I broke off the engagement.”

“Gracious.”

Indeed. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep that information to yourself,” Elle said. “We’ve got our hands full here and I don’t want it to be a distraction.”

Mrs. Hardy nodded. “It’s not easy to be young,” she said.

She had been young and probably immature. But she’d made the right decision. For Brody.

Who was returning from the cockpit. “How’s Captain Ramano?” she asked.

“Conscious. I got his head wound cleaned up and stitched. I suspect he has a concussion and I’m still worried that there may be some internal injuries.”

She looked around. The others were huddled around Angus, quietly conversing. “If you’re right and he has internal injuries, he might not survive the night,” she said.

“I’ll watch him,” Brody said. “These just aren’t great conditions to have to cut someone open and try to stop internal bleeding.”

“You would do that?” she asked.

“I’ll do what I have to do,” Brody said simply. “Right now I think we need to concentrate on that,” he said, pointing to a hole in the roof of the plane. It was almost as if the hard impact had ripped apart a seam.

But it hadn’t ripped neatly—the area around the hole was a jagged mess of metal. “We need to get that covered, but first, I’d like to use the hole to take a look around outside. I need something to stand on.”

“There are some boxes in the closet at the front, the one where the flight crew hangs their jackets,” Elle said.

“An empty box won’t work,” he said.

“They’re not empty,” Elle said.

He walked toward the closet, kicking additional debris out of his way as he went. He opened the closet door and, sure enough, there were two boxes. He picked one up. It was heavy. “What the heck is in here? Cement?”

“Books,” Elle said.

He carried a box and set it down under the hole. The floor was wet and more water was dripping in. He got the second box. “I hope you don’t mind if they get wet,” he muttered.

“Under the circumstances, I think I can get past it,” she said, her tone dry.

“People can get past a lot,” he said to no one in particular. He stood on the boxes and carefully stuck his head outside. Rain pelted his face and shoulders. It was very dark and the moist smell of wet foliage was almost overwhelming. He raised his arm and shone his flashlight out into the distance.

Trees. And more trees. He pivoted, carefully moving his feet so as to not lose his balance on the stacked boxes. Every direction was the same. When he brought the light in closer, he could see where the plane had knocked through some trees, breaking off branches before it had come to rest on the floor of the jungle. The trees, big and leafy, towered over the plane, probably some seventy to eighty feet in the air.

Angus had been right. It was going to be very difficult for rescuers to find the plane.

* * *

E
LLE
REALIZED
SHE
’
D
been holding her breath while Brody was surveying the outside. When he pulled his torso and head back inside, she gulped in a big lungful of air.

“Well?” she asked.

For a minute, she thought he was going to tell her to look for herself. Then he let out a soft sigh, as if in acceptance that he was going to have to talk to her, regardless of how distasteful it might be.

“I don’t think we’re in any immediate danger,” he said. “The plane appears to be on a flat surface. It’s hard to see much, but I’m fairly confident of that. I think we need to sit tight tonight. I suspect they’ll suspend any search until daylight.”

She looked at her watch. Daylight was ten hours away. “We should probably cover this hole,” she said. “No need to advertise that there’s fresh meat in the jungle,” she said, attempting to insert a hint of levity into her tone.

He didn’t smile. “I agree. If nothing else, we need to keep the mosquitoes out as best we can.”

He was right. She’d had a malaria vaccine, but there wasn’t one for dengue fever or several of the other diseases that mosquitoes carried. “There are some blankets in the front cabinet.”

“I saw that, but let’s see if we can find something else. We should reserve the blankets for warmth.”

She started looking around. The plane was small with few hidden cracks or crannies. Behind the last row of seats was a built-in cupboard for passenger luggage with a double door. Both doors had come open during the crash and the few pieces of luggage inside had spilled out. On the shelf above the open space was...something. Whatever it was, it was covered in dust. Rather gingerly, she reached for a corner and pulled it toward her. With it halfway out, she realized what it was. She held it up for Brody and the others to see. “Look. A parachute.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that, dear,” Mrs. Hardy said, humor in her tone.

Elle smiled at the woman. She didn’t miss the odd look in Brody’s eye. He was probably thinking that she was pretty good at bailing out.

“This makes no sense,” Elle said. “This is not the kind of plane you’d jump from.”

Brody nodded. “You’re right. It looks as if it got stuffed in here and somebody forgot about it. Regardless, it’s a good find and quite frankly, we’re due some luck.”

Elle pulled the parachute out, spreading the nylon canopy as best she could in the small space. “I think this is a job for Mrs. Hardy’s knife.”

It took Elle several minutes to slice a section of the fabric that would cover the hole. When she was done, she looked up. That had been the easy part. Now she was going to have to go outside, climb on top of the plane and place it over the hole. She was worried about the jagged pieces of metal piercing the nylon, but she couldn’t do much about that right now. Also, she’d have to find something heavy enough to lay over it to keep it in place. Maybe a few branches from some trees or even some heavy palm leaves. She could use Mrs. Hardy’s knife to cut them off. “I’ll go outside and put it over the hole.”

“You’re not going outside and climbing on top of this plane,” Brody said, his tone adamant, as if it were the dumbest thing he’d heard today.

“Getting the hole covered is important,” she reminded him.

“Cover it from the inside.”

“I need tape and nails for that,” she said. “I haven’t come across any of that.”

“There’s some bandage tape in the first-aid kit. That should be strong enough to hold it.”

“Shouldn’t we save that, just in case?”

“It was a new roll,” he said. “If you use some, we should still be okay.” He walked toward her, first-aid kit in hand.

“How’s the shoulder?” he asked.

“Fine. Good as new,” she said.

“Okay. I want to clean up your head wound.”

She let out a huff of air. “Fine.”

He opened the first-aid kit and motioned for her to have a seat. Holding a flashlight in one hand and alcohol sponges in the other, he quickly cleaned and disinfected the wound. She tried to hold very still.

Brody Donovan had always had nice hands. Gentle. Yet strong.

There were no rings on any fingers. Was it even possible that he’d never married? Married and divorced? She doubted that. Once Brody made a promise, he’d keep it.

Unlike her.

“The cut is about an inch long but not too deep. I’m going to cover it. If you can keep it from getting infected, it will heal and probably won’t even leave a scar.”

She wasn’t worried about a scar. She knew that small imperfections like that hardly mattered. “It will give me character,” she said, trying to make light of the situation.

“You have a tan,” Brody said, surprise in his voice.

She felt her whole body heat up. He used to tease her that her fair skin would never tan. On the other hand, she’d called him
Goldenboy.
He’d always been perpetually tanned from all his outdoor activities. That, combined with his light brown hair, which was naturally streaked with some lighter blond, and he looked as if he’d stepped out of a California tourism advertisement.

And while his hair was shorter than it had been in med school, he still looked very much the same. What had he been doing for the past thirteen years? And what had led him to be on a small charter plane in Brazil?

She had a thousand questions and no right to ask any of them.

Chapter Four

They found a total of four blankets. Brody gave one to the Hardys and one to Elle, who immediately offered to share with Pamela. The third he used to cover up Captain Ramano, who had finally gotten out of his seat and moved back into the main cabin area with the rest of them. The fourth went on top of Angus, who was restless with pain.

For himself, Brody pulled an extra shirt out of his bag and put it on. He was too wired to sleep and the jungle was anything but quiet at night. Even though Elle had done a good job covering the hole in the roof of the plane, all kinds of sounds still floated in.

He’d thought he’d be listening to the sound of surf outside his bedroom window tonight. Instead, he was listening to who knows what. The only given was that it likely wanted to eat him.

At the crack of dawn, he was going to build a fire. That would make it easier for a search plane to locate them. He hoped the winds were light; otherwise the smoke would dissipate too fast. They did have one other weapon in their arsenal. Angus had said that there were some emergency flares. So, if a plane got close, they’d send up one of those.

Pamela snored, so around three in the morning, Elle threw back her portion of the blanket and walked over to sit in a seat on the other side of the cabin. It wasn’t as if she could go far. The plane was not that big.

Brody watched her. She ignored him even though he was pretty sure she knew he was awake.

Which, for some crazy reason, rattled his chain. “So, what’s with the books?” he asked.

It took her so long to answer he began to think that she wouldn’t. No skin off his back.

“I teach English at a girls’ school. These were extra books that we received. A priest that I know has a brother who is a teacher in Fortaleza at a very poor school. I offered to share the books with him.”

“Couldn’t you have shipped them?”

“Of course. But I was headed this direction anyway and I’ve gotten to know him, too, over the past couple of years. I was going to stay overnight with him and his wife before going on.”

Before going on?
“Where’s your final destination?”

“Back to the States,” she said, finally look at him.

“Really?” He paused. “For good?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Things are...complicated.”

He waited, hoping she’d tell him more. But she stayed quiet and his mind went about six directions.

Complicated because she was leaving a man? Leaving a family? Complicated because she no longer had a job? Complicated because she was on the run from the government? Complicated because she was part of the witness-protection program? Each thought was becoming more and more bizarre. He needed to stop.

They didn’t owe each other any explanations. They were strangers who, a very long time ago, had had a moment.

A moment that had lasted two years.

A moment that had ended so fast that his head had whirled for months.

It had been thirteen years since he saw her. They’d met two years before that. He’d been in the middle of his second year of med school. She’d been a waitress in a little bar where the med students hung out. She’d been beautiful and articulate and very sexy in her short black skirt and white shirt. And she’d seemed to enjoy their brief conversations as he tried to devise ways to stretch out ordering a beer.

It had taken him six weeks and four invitations before she’d agreed to go out with him.

He’d relentlessly pursued her and pretty soon, they’d been spending all their free time together. On Christmas Eve, almost exactly two years after their first date, he’d asked her to marry him. When she’d said yes, he’d known it would be the best Christmas ever. They’d planned an early June wedding. In February, she’d bought a dress, which she refused to show him, saying it was bad luck. In March, they’d created a small guest list of close friends and family, which grew exponentially bigger when his parents had added their friends and extended family. As the list grew bigger and bigger, he’d noticed Elle’s nervousness increase.

Don’t be concerned about the expense,
he’d told her. While it might have been traditional that the bride’s parents paid for the wedding, he knew that Elle’s mother was divorced. He suspected resources were limited. He’d encouraged her to add more guests from her side of the family, but she’d simply smiled and said that there was no one else.

They’d registered for wedding gifts, spending time he didn’t have selecting china patterns and silverware. But he’d been happy enough to go without sleep. Nothing mattered except marrying Elle.

In the middle of April, eight weeks before the wedding, the invitations had gone in the mail and he’d arranged for Ethan and Mack to get fitted for tuxes.

On May 10, he’d walked out to get the mail, never anticipating that his life was about to change, that nothing would ever be the same, that nothing would ever be quite right again.

He’d seen the letter and had recognized the handwriting. Under a warm spring sun, wearing his pajama pants and his favorite Notre Dame sweatshirt, he’d opened the letter, thinking she’d probably sent him a funny card.

He’d read it twice. Nothing funny about it.

It had been full of apology. Full of a bunch of junk about how he’d be better off without her.

He’d run back into the house and frantically dialed the phone. She hadn’t answered. He’d jumped in his car and gone to her apartment. Again, no answer. He’d found the landlord and given him a hundred bucks to open the door. Her clothes and personal things were gone.

He’d gone to Elle’s workplace, but nobody had talked to her. Her boss, a man younger than Brody, seemed more concerned about how he was going to fill her shifts than that she was missing. He’d turned to her family only to realize, rather belatedly, that he didn’t even have her mother’s number.

With the help of his family’s attorney, he tracked down Elle’s mother in a small town in central Utah. It had been a horribly awkward conversation. He’d said his name, expecting some sign of recognition. But there had been none. And it had quickly become apparent that Elle and her mother were not close when her mother had finally said that she hadn’t heard from her daughter in months.

She’d also said she didn’t understand why her daughter always had to be difficult.

The Elle he had known hadn’t been difficult, but he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he likely hadn’t really known Elle.

The attorney had gotten the name of the stepdad through the divorce papers that were filed with the county. Even though Elle had never talked about her stepfather, Brody had contacted the man, who was living in Kentucky. Brody had left a message on the phone for the man, didn’t get a call back for days, and finally when he followed up again, the man had said he wouldn’t bother to open the door if Elle Vollman came knocking.

He’d called the police. They’d read the letter and looked at him with sad eyes and said there didn’t appear to be much they could do.

He’d thought about hiring a private investigator. After all, people couldn’t just disappear. He got as far as dialing the number one day. What stopped him was knowing that Elle hadn’t disappeared. No. She’d left. Packed her bags and left.

Pride kept him from chasing after her.

But it had not kept him from holding his breath every damn day in anticipation of going to the mailbox. It had not kept him from being neurotic about making sure that his phone was charged.

After about a year, he’d stopped expecting her to make contact. At three years, he even got into the habit of not looking at his mail for weeks at a time.

At five years, he’d been able to think about it and not get sick. And within the last couple of years, he’d actually thought he was over it.

Now he knew he was wrong about that.

“Do you still keep in contact with Ethan and Mack?” she asked.

His friends had liked Elle. Had said that she was a good match for him. They weren’t generally so wrong. “I do. They’re both getting married this summer. In just a few weeks, actually.”

She pulled back in surprise. “No way.”

“Yes. Ethan is marrying Chandler McCann, Mack’s little sister. They reunited at the cabin last fall when somebody was trying to kill Chandler. Ethan wasn’t having any of it. And Mack met Hope Minnow when he had a couple free weeks between leaving naval intelligence and starting a new job. Her dad is a television preacher and he and his family had been receiving some anonymous threats. Turned out there were a bunch of snakes in that crowd.”

“Hope Minnow,” Elle repeated. “Oh, yeah. I remember. I read an article about her in
People
. I suspect most men only looked at the pictures.”

“Gorgeous and nice. Same for Chandler. My friends both got lucky.”

She sat quietly for a long time with her eyes closed and he thought that she’d maybe fallen asleep. She surprised him when she turned to him. “Did you ever marry, Brody?”

He shook his head. “You?” he asked, and cleared his throat because his damn voice squeaked.

“No,” she whispered.

He closed his own eyes.
Ask her why. Ask her why she left you.
The voices in his head were hammering to be let out.

He kept his mouth shut. He’d survived a plane crash. He wasn’t sure he could survive hearing her say that she just hadn’t loved him enough.

He listened to her even breathing and pretty soon, he was confident that she was asleep.

Only then did he relax enough to drift off and catch a few hours of badly needed rest.

* * *

W
HEN
E
LLE
WOKE
UP
, she was sweating. The interior of the plane was warm. She looked around. Pamela and the Hardys were still sleeping. Angus was in his spot, his leg stretched out, his shoulders twitching in restless sleep. Captain Ramano was... Yikes, he was staring at her. When their eyes met, the captain quickly lowered his gaze. The previous night he’d been almost uncommunicative and she’d wondered if he wasn’t in shock.

“How do you feel?” she whispered.

“My head hurts,” he said. His voice was low, rusty from little use.

She smiled. “I’ll bet it does. I’m sure help will come today. Do you remember what happened?” she asked gently.

He shrugged, then winced when that evidently hurt. “We started losing power in our engines. I did the best I could to get us down. It sure as hell wasn’t
my
fault.”

She wasn’t imagining the emphasis on the one word. Who said something like that unless there was someone else that deserved the blame?

Had the plane been tampered with? Did he suspect that? Who would do something like that?

A chill ran down her spine. She knew someone who likely had the means to do something like that. Someone who hated her. Someone who would do most anything to make sure that she never reached the United States.

T. K. Jamas.

He was evil but was he crazy? Would he bring down a plane with innocent people on board just to harm her?

She had to know. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean by that,” she said, her voice still a whisper. She didn’t want anyone to overhear. “Whose fault is it?”

He stared at her. “How would I know?” he asked.

It wasn’t an answer. And despite his head injury, she wanted to shake it out of him. “But the way you said...” She stopped. Brody stood in the doorway of the plane, his frame backlit by a streak of early-morning sunshine that had managed to make its way to the jungle floor. It caught the shine of his hair, the width of his shoulders.

He’d changed clothes. Instead of the cargo shorts he’d worn last night, he’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt. He had boots on his feet instead of sandals, and his jeans were tucked into the boots. It wasn’t a great fashion statement but a good idea in the jungle where there were poisonous things crawling everywhere.

“Good call on the boots,” she said, turning away from Captain Ramano.

“I threw them in at the last minute,” he said, shaking his head. “I always loved hiking in Colorado and knew there were some mountains fairly close to my destination.”

Elle wished she’d thought to bring boots. She had the loafers she was wearing and a pair of water shoes. At least she had on pants and a long-sleeved shirt over her cami. Her skin was mostly covered, which could be helpful in the jungle.

Brody walked over to Captain Ramano and looked at his eyes. Then he took his pulse and checked the bandage on his head wound. “I think you may have a slight concussion,” he said. “Don’t move around any more than you have to.”

“I guess it was our lucky day that we had a physician on the plane,” Captain Ramano said.

Brody shook his head. “It was our lucky day that you managed to land the plane without it being scattered around the jungle floor. We’re going to get out of here. All of us.”

Pamela stretched and then stood up. Her hair was going every direction. “They better find us today. We could starve. We have very little water and almost no food.”

Mr. and Mrs. Hardy looked at each other. Brody shook his head. “We aren’t going to starve. We may get a little hungry, but nobody has ever died from that. We’ll have to be careful with our water.”

Elle knew exactly how much water they had. And it wasn’t enough. They would make it through today, but by tomorrow, they would need more. There was the bottle that Angus had drunk out of. The Hardys both had water bottles and Captain Ramano had had a large thermos of water wedged under his seat. Pamela had a sports drink.

Fortunately, water was generally readily available in the jungle. Unfortunately, it wasn’t safe to drink. Unless it was boiled.

She watched Brody inspect the assortment that Pamela had gathered the night before. Four breakfast bars, a sack of chips, a can of mixed nuts, beef jerky, cheese popcorn and twelve tea bags.

“Who had the tea bags?” he asked.

Mrs. Hardy raised her hand. “A good cup of tea always makes me feel a little more civilized.”

Elle didn’t know about that. T. K. Jamas always drank tea. The first thing she’d noticed about the man was that he always had a cup of tea. He’d arrive at the school, cup in hand.