Crash Landing by Lori Wilde Page A

emergency landing. It was something every pilot was taught, but hoped never to use.
    The engine sputtered a forth time.
    Her heart pounded. Don’t panic, don’t panic. “Gotta get this plane on the ground and take a look at that engine,” she muttered to herself.
    “What?” Gibb sat up straighter. “Where?”
    “There.” She pointed at the small, uninhabited island they’d flown over earlier.
    “What’s that?”
    “An island.”
    “The size of a breath mint.”
    The engine sputtered, shuddered. “You got any better ideas?” she asked.
    “You mean besides a crash landing?”
    “An emergency landing,” she corrected. “I’m going to do my best not to crash.”
    “We’re going to crash!”
    “There’s a small strip of beach,” she persisted as they flew closer. However, at this lower altitude she could see the spot was not nearly as big as she’d first thought and what there was of it was littered with driftwood and coconuts.
    Not ideal at all, but it was their only option.
    The engine sputtered again, cut out. Had to be the stupid carburetor. What could be wrong with the carburetor?
    “Hang on,” she yelled. “We’re going down.”

5
    T HE BELLY OF the plane skimmed the tops of the thick jungle forest. Fronds and branches slapped and scraped against metal producing a loud screeching noise. Gibb cringed, and grabbed on to his seat with both hands to brace himself for the fall and speared a glance at Sophia.
    Sweat beaded her brow, her top teeth were sunk deep into her bottom lip, but her eyes were narrowed in grim determination and her expression declared, Come hell or high water, I’m landing this plane on this island.
    That is, unless they overshot it.
    Which, considering the compact size of the island and the thinness of the beach, seemed more likely with every passing second.
    Damn those spies who’d freaked him out so much he’d chartered a plane that had no business doing anything more than ferrying tourists from airports to mountaintop resorts. Damn Scott for being so irrational and marrying a woman he’d only known for a month.
    Hey, while you’re at it, why not damn yourself? You’re the one who allowed emotion to overrule common sense and you’re the one who told her to keep flying instead of turning back like she wanted to.
    Yes, okay, damn his hide for that.
    Honestly, he was amazed at her calm skill. He knew grown men who would be whimpering like little girls in a similar situation. Hell, a yelp or two might have jumped out of his throat.
    But Sophia was in complete control. Well, as much as anyone could be in control during a forced landing. Nervous as he was, he still had the utmost confidence in her ability to land this thing without killing them.
    Unsecured items bounced around the cockpit. The box of snacks flew open, raining cookies, crackers, candy bars, marshmallows and bags of chips all around them. Stuff in the back of the plane shifted, slid, skidded.
    With all the flying he’d done in his life, he’d grown lackadaisical. Taken it for granted that any plane he was on would stay airborne. Statistics bore him out. The chances of being killed in a plane crash were miniscule, but planes did go down. Small, old planes more so than others.
    Hubris. He was full of hubris thinking he was immune. When had this sense of entitlement overtaken him? That he was somehow too special for any plane he was flying in to experience a mishap? He hadn’t been born that way. In fact, when he was a kid, he’d felt anything but special. Maybe that was the reason why he’d worked so hard to be rich—the need to be special.
    Where had that flash of insight come from? He wasn’t particularly self-aware. He had, in fact, on more than one occasion, been accused of being oblivious in regard to his inner motivations. C’mon, who sat around and thought about stuff like that?
    Apparently, during an emergency landing, he did.
    The wheels touched down hard.
    Gibb’s head snapped back, his teeth