Page 18

CAROLINE

The rocky ground below approaches at breakneck speed, yet somehow, time slows.

I mentally catalog details even as fear floods my system.

The speed at which the ground approaches.

The angle of the helicopter. The protruding veins on the back of Dorian’s hand as he grapples with control.

His blank focus: calm, collected, emotionless.

I catalog the details with the same analytical process I used while reviewing surveillance footage, but now I’m clocking what might be my final moments.

This is it. I’m going to die.

I joined a black ops group after the CIA, yet I’ll die in my husband’s helicopter. The bitter irony isn’t lost on me—I came to investigate him, and now he might accidentally kill us both.

I knew he should’ve never gotten his pilot’s license.

I told him not to.

It’s tempting fate.

The rich and famous should never get into small planes.

I told him.

His jaw flexes.

A vein in his forehead pulses.

The most handsome man I’ve ever met.

The most infuriating.

But if this is it…at least I’m with him.

I wouldn’t want him to die alone.

I grip the seat.

The ground rushes at us.

I squeeze my eyes closed.

Bam!

Metal crunches.

Glass shatters.

The harness digs into my shoulders. We rock right, then left.

I scream.

In my head? Out loud? I’m not sure.

We still.

A low hissing noise intrudes.

I force my eyes open.

We’re tilted to one side.

Unscathed evergreens stand like giants in the distance.

We landed.

“Dorian!”

He’s there. In front of me, hands fumbling with my harness.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

Decisive. Determined.

Sweat coats his brow.

“Are you okay?”

He’s calm. Commanding.

“Answer me, Cara. Is anything hurt?”

I take stock.

“Caroline.” He palms my face. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

He pushes off my headphones.

Reaches past me and pushes on a door that’s tilted skyward. He kicks at it.

One kick. Two. It flings open.

Ticking noises and creaks sound through the cabin.

“What’s that noise?”

"Hydraulic or fuel line. I don’t know which. Maybe both."

My hands and arms tremble uncontrollably—not just from shock, but from the adrenaline surge.

He climbs out and helps me, lifting me as if I’m injured.

I can’t stop trembling.

I’m not sure I can walk, but we’re out, beside the tilted helicopter.

Scratched. Dented.

But all things considered…it’s okay.

He scoops my legs and lifts me, carrying me over the boulders.

Brown overgrown grasses mix in with the rocky terrain.

There’s no smooth ground in sight.

He sets me down like an injured child and begins touching my arms, back, and legs, focus trained on me. He’s looking for injuries.

“Why are you crying?” Desperation coats his words.

Am I crying?

He dabs at my cheeks, and I sniffle.

I close my eyes.

Holy shit. We almost died.

An explosion rips through the air.

I scream.

A black cloud of smoke rises from the tail of the helicopter.

The smell of burnt fuel permeates the air, and I could swear I can hear slight crackling noises, only it’s not a campfire.

“Are you okay?”

He’s still touching me.

We’re alive.

“Hope you didn’t love that helicopter.”

He once professed his love for a Porsche. I’d imagine this helicopter costs a lot more.

He laughs. It’s a guttural sound. I haven’t heard him laugh in… He’s a blur through my teary eyes.

He sits down on the boulder beside me and pulls me onto his lap.

Pink polish catches my attention. I’m missing one shoe.

I lean against his chest.

There’s pressure on my head. He kissed my head.

The tears flow in heavy, quiet streams.

“I told you not to get your pilot’s license.”

“Wanna know something funny? I thought about that as we were going down.”

“So did I.” I snort, sending snot straight out of my nostrils. It’s so gross. I wipe my nose, but then I catch his eye, and suddenly I’m laughing, too.

We should not be laughing, but I can’t stop.

When the hysterical laughter subsides, I rest my head against his shoulder, spent.

He lets out a sigh.

During all the laughter, my butt slid off his thigh onto the mossy stone, and my legs drape his. He places an arm across my legs, and the familiarity aches.

When we were falling, I’d been afraid. Frightened. No…terrified. But I’d also been grateful to be with him. That’s something I should discuss with my therapist.

“You might not believe me, but my flight instructors would be impressed with that landing.”

I take in our surroundings. Much further in and we would have crashed into trees. The stream doesn’t appear deep, but it might be deeper in the center. If it was spring, that stream would rush rapids. This land we’re sitting on might be underwater with the snowmelt.

A deep shudder works its way through my body.

“Hey, you okay?” He’s concerned again, and he pulls me back up onto his lap.

I’m obviously okay, but I don’t have the strength to brush off his comfort. I burrow into him.

“I’d never let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

I push away so I can give him an expression that calls him out on that, not to blame him but to make light of the situation, to alleviate the gravity of what we experienced. But he urges me back against his chest.

“I meant, I’d die before I let something happen to you. I wouldn’t let this be the end.”

His hold on me tightens, and we sit there like that, observing the mangled monstrosity before us.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure. Hydraulic line…”

He trails off.

Unease settles into the pit of my stomach. The analytical part of my brain kicks into gear, despite the shock. Mechanical failure in a meticulously maintained aircraft. The timing, just as Sophia warned me about burner phones traced to this area.

“Do you think someone tampered with it on purpose?”

His jaw moves back and forth, considering. I read his microexpressions—the slight tension around his eyes, the controlled breathing pattern. He knows something.

The answer is in his troubled eyes. The answer is yes, this is sabotage, but he doesn’t want to admit the truth.

I sit up straighter with a flash of the Arrow conference room. Sophia, Ryan, Trevor, even Luke. I told them he couldn’t possibly be behind the plan, but someone tried to take him out. Why would someone try to kill him?

“Dorian, what’re you involved in?”

His gaze remains locked on the helicopter.

“Why would someone try to kill you?”

He’s quiet. Thoughtful. There’s a full conversation going on in that head of his, and, like always, he’s not letting me in.

If he’s involved in a global syndicate, as the Arrow team and an unknown source claims, then it could’ve been anyone.

When we were together, he wouldn’t let me in when he was in a bad mood. He’s not going to just break down and tell me he’s breaking the law.

“What happens now? Should we start walking?” I scan the area. There are no discernible trails.

“Rescue team is on the way. We sit.”

I should reach out to Sophia.

“I left my phone…”

“It’ll stay in there,” Dorian says absentmindedly.

I force myself to nod, though every instinct screams to get the phone and my luggage—to see what survived. The tracking software, the encrypted messages, the surveillance photos—all of it potentially recoverable if my phone and laptop survived the crash.

The cabin appears intact. The explosion originated in the back, near where I presume the engine is.

“It’s already exploded,” I say, studying the crash. The burning scent lingers in the air, but it’s lessening. I no longer hear crackling.

“Doesn’t mean it won’t again.”

If the team’s tracking me, Sophia will be worried. “The phone is likely near my seat,” although, as I say it, I recognize the futility in the argument.

“I won’t let you risk your life for a phone. I’ll buy you a new one.”

I scowl but drop it, recognizing that when the rescue team arrives, they’ll retrieve what they can safely.

Depending on its proximity to the explosion, it may no longer function.

The explosion was a short burst and quickly fizzled.

It’s hard to estimate the heat level that would have penetrated the cabin.

We both stare at the wreck. One of his arms loops behind my back, and one of his hands rests on my knee, as if he needs to touch me, but his thoughts are elsewhere.

“What’re you thinking?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Why do you do that?” I push up off his chest, but he keeps his arm secured around my waist. One eyebrow arches.

It’s his silent way of asking what I mean.

I don’t know how I ever fell in love with this silent, uncommunicative man.

“You’re clearly thinking something. Why do you keep everything trapped in there? ”

I gesture to his head as if it’s a fly I need to swat.

His loud exhale resembles an amused, half-hearted chuckle. “It’s learned behavior.”

“You’re blaming this on your dad?” I should push away, but I’m chilled, and there’s nowhere else to go at the moment.

“My dad?” He sounds offended. “I meant you.”

“What?” How dare he.

“If I know that what I’m going to say will upset you, we’re better off if I don’t speak.”

I reel back, flabbergasted.

“See? We would’ve been better off if I hadn’t said that.”

“We would’ve been better off if you hadn’t thought it.”

He pulls me back against him, and I push back. I’d rather be cold.

“You’re shivering. Come here.”

He’s right. I’m freezing. I relax enough that I give in to his tug and return to his chest. He rubs a hand over my arm, back and forth, generating heat.

“When we were crashing, I zoned out. Focused on what I’d learned during flying lessons.”

“You saved us,” I say, looking at the wreck before us. I know nothing about flying helicopters, but I fully expect that when the others get here, they’ll be talking about what an excellent job he did improvising. He’s a master at everything he does.

“But my first thought, after I got you out of the helicopter? After I realized you weren’t injured and we survived?”

My eyes burn, and I close them. I turn my head into Dorian’s chest, warming my icy nose on his shirt.

“We could’ve died.”

No shit.

“And I would’ve never told you that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. There’s not a lot in my life that I would do over if given the chance, but you’re the one thing I’d do again a thousand times over.”

His hold on me tightens ever so slightly. I swallow hard and pull back just enough to look at his face, my fingers involuntarily curling into the fabric of his shirt. The raw honesty in his eyes catches me off guard, and I force myself to take a steadying breath.

“I bet you wish I’d kept my thoughts to myself now.”