Justifiable (50 page)

Static crackled in his ear. He keyed the radio to activate the automatic runway lights then spoke into his headset microphone. “November Zero Niner Niner Five Papa preparing for takeoff.” 

Two trackers with dogs appeared in his headlights, further down the runway. The ensemble raced toward him. Both men struggled to keep up with hounds charging against their leashes, amped up on the scent of the hunt.

Zane gunned the engine, taxied straight ahead.

Hack’s excited voice burst inside his headset. “Zane, come on back. Got some men here want to see you.”

What if the brutes were with law enforcement? He’d have to hand her over. No woman was worth getting arrested and having people digging around into his background.

A hundred yards ahead, men dove away from the churning props, dragging the bloodhounds with them.

He clicked on his mike. “Are they Feds?”

“No. Private security, but they really want to talk. Says there’s big money in it for you.”

Big money
had a suspicious ring to it. Zane continued to flip levers. “What type of security?”

He swung around the far end of the taxiway, barely slowing. A squeak sounded in the rear, but he couldn’t decide if it had four legs or two.

Two sets of high beams shot around the opposite end of the runway thirty-five hundred feet away to face him. What was the chance those headlights belonged to the two sport utilities full of muscle? Pretty fucking good.

He eased the throttles forward.

What kind of trouble was this woman in?

To keep an eye on his cargo, he’d installed a rear view mirror. He shot a quick look at the cargo hold. A pair of wide eyes stared back, more panicked than before.

He understood that look.

She was running for her life.

After a long silence, Hack finally answered his question. “Private security, uh, like ... Big Joe Levetti.”

Hair stood up across Zane’s neck.

Hack had always joked that Big Joe had D-E-A-T-H tattooed across his knuckles. No way would Zane turn that haunted, frightened woman over to a bunch of hired guns.

He barked one last message into the radio. “You’re breaking up. I’ve got IFR clearance from center. I’m gone.”  As the aircraft picked up speed, the four headlights racing toward him grew larger. Zane gripped the controls tighter. His pilot’s manual didn’t cover playing chicken in a loaded Titan on a rainy night. But his military experience made this an easy call.

Besides, he’d never been one to play by the rules.

Buffeted by the wind, the plane rocked and careened closer to the Land Rovers, the distance between them shortening with every second. He mentally calculated the added weight of the stowaway in the back.

He’d never get this aircraft up before reaching the vehicles if they held their ground.

He’d never be able to stop in time either.

Last Chance To Run – December 2012

www.AuthorDiannaLove.com