Rebecca Zanetti - Forgotten Sins

Tom shrugged, tucking his gun at the back of his waist.

The jet turned, gathering speed to roll down the runway, bushes flashing by outside. Josie let out a shriek and jumped at Tom. He pivoted, shoving her up into the air and over two rows of seats. She slammed between the seats and down to the ground with a dull thud.

Fury roared through Shane’s body with a heat to match the fire they’d just left. He growled and shot forward to tackle Tom. His shoulders were too wide for the aisle and slammed against chair armrests as the men went down. The bastard shot an elbow into Shane’s face. Blood sprayed, but Shane held on to Tom.

The hit to Shane’s face destroyed all other pain. He slid into a soldier’s state, the place they’d forced him into so many years ago. Pain flowed away. Conscience disappeared. All emotion, all thought… dissipated. Pure instinct took over. He pressed up, levering his forearm against Tom’s throat.

The plane tilted, ascending into the dark night. Tom took advantage of the shift, clapping his hands against Shane’s ears. Levering his knee up, he shoved into Shane’s bleeding belly. Another rib cracked.

Shane sucked in air, loosening his hold. While he could keep pain at bay, his body still reacted to the damage. Tom grappled for position and then tossed Shane over his head.

Rolling, Shane gasped for air, grabbing the nearest armrest to struggle to his feet. The wind whistled outside the still-open hatch. Behind Tom. Out of his peripheral vision, Shane watched his wife yank herself into the seat. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she hissed. A dark bruise had already begun to form under her right eye. For that alone, Tom would die.

Gears screeched as the wheels were tucked into the plane. Shane settled his stance while the plane ascended at full tilt, swerving side to side as the pilot struggled for control with the hatch open. Air rushed by outside, sucking out papers from the counter near the doorway. Chilly night air filtered through the small cabin.

Tom yanked his gun out. Shane lurched forward, slamming Tom’s gun hand against the wall and hooking his arm through Tom’s. Shane took a step, twisted his arm, and yanked back, sweeping Tom’s knee at the same time. The crack of Tom’s arm breaking preceded the thunderous thud of the men hitting the floor, Shane on Tom’s back. Tom bellowed in pain.

The plane pitched to the side.

Josie yelped, smacking into the window before grabbing the headrest in front of her with white-knuckled hands.

Tom gave a furious roar, kicking Shane in the back and dislodging him. Both men scrambled to their feet. Shane wiped blood out of his eye, forcing the pain down deeper. It was becoming more persistent.

The plane leveled off, the open hatch a hole of doom. A guarantee someone would plunge through it before the flight ended.

Tom clutched his broken arm, anger etched into the lines of his face.

Shane smiled. The guy lacked Matt’s special brand of training to let such emotion show. Good. “Ready to die?”

The cockpit door opened behind Tom, and the pilot stepped out, nine-millimeter pointed at Shane. “Shut the hatch.”

Josie gasped. “Who’s flying the plane?” The wind whistled an ominous trumpet outside the gaping entry.

The pilot smiled crooked yellowed teeth. A weird light glowed from his eyes, his pupils completely dilated. Was the guy on drugs? “Autopilot.” He raised his arm, pointed at Shane, and fired.

Shane jumped in front of Josie, forcing her to the floor. The bullet tore into the wooden paneling at the rear of the aircraft. Dun-colored metal caught his eye. In one fluid movement, he grabbed Tom’s dropped gun, slid into the aisle on his knees, and fired at the pilot.

Tom dodged to the side.

The bullet whammed between the pilot’s eyes. Gray matter splatted against the cockpit door. Blood cascaded across the front row of seats. The pilot dropped to the ground, his gun clanking on the floor.

Tom reached for the weapon, but Shane leaped forward, his foot pressing down on Tom’s hand. Hard. “Not nice, Tommy.” If Shane left Tom alive, the man would just keep coming after them, along with the commander. Time to end this—for good.

Tom scooted until his back rested against the far wall, blood dripping down his face, the broken arm dangling uselessly to the side. Fury lit his brown eyes. Hatred curled his lip.

Memories. Flashes of light ripped through Shane’s head like sharp knives. Pain coursed until he was sure his ears bled. He couldn’t block it. Like a million paparazzi cameras flashing at once, the sight and sounds grew deafening.

Jory.

His brother, shot in the chest, falling to the floor. Eyes open.

Shane’s memories poured in like thick concrete. Undercover. He’d found the video, and he’d watched it. Tears had choked him with fury. But then almost two years into his assignment, he’d found the second video. The one where Jory blinked after being shot. Maybe. Maybe it had been a trick of light—the angle of the camera. But… maybe it had been a blink.

Shane gasped, nearly bending over at the memory.

Movement sounded. Josie screamed. Shane turned instinctively toward the sound, the movement saving his life.

Tom tackled him, head into stomach. Shane hit the counter inches from the open hatch. The plane jumped, and then tilted to the left. They were going down.

Shane pivoted, sweeping his leg underneath Tom’s. He shoved.

Tom flew out the hatch and into the dark night, his yell echoing behind them to taper into silence.

With a pissed growl, Shane leaned down and yanked the ladder inside before sliding the hatch closed. His ears rang in the sudden silence.

Josie rose from her seat, hurrying toward him. He grabbed and yanked her as close as possible. The scent of wild berries filled his nose. “It’s okay, Josie. We’re safe.”

She lifted her face toward his, tears filling her eyes. “Tell me you know how to fly a plane.”

He grinned, lifting her over the dead body of the pilot to sit in the cockpit. Settling his bulk into the pilot’s seat, he grabbed the stick and righted the plane. “Of course, sweetheart. I learned how to fly when I was twelve.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Whether she liked it or not.

The peaceful chirp of birds filled the early hours of a Montana morning. Shane bit back a wince as Nathan finished taping his ribs. “You have the finesse of a bulldog.”

Nate stepped back, a frown on his face. “No training for a week because I’m not stitching you up again.” He glanced toward the door as Matt stalked inside, stomping his boots on the stoop first.

Matt tilted his head toward Shane. “Is he all right?”

“Yes.” Nate threw bloodied bandages into the trash. “Did you dismantle the plane?”

“Pretty much. We’ll use it for parts… can’t be traced.” Matt yanked open the refrigerator door and grabbed a beer, drinking it in three swallows.

Shane shifted on the wooden chair, his elbows resting on the round table. There was probably a smooth way to say what he needed to say, but he couldn’t find it in his head.

Matt grabbed another beer, slamming the door shut. “I can’t believe we missed the commander.” He dropped into a chair across from Shane. “Though I’m sure we’ll see him again soon.” His gaze took in Shane’s bandages. “Where’s your wife?”

“Shower.” Shane eyed the long hallway. They’d arrived at the ranch thirty minutes earlier, and she’d headed straight for warm water. “Tell me again about the security on the ranch.”

Nate nodded. “Full perimeter. Sensors, cameras, even booby traps I can deploy from here.” He leaned against the counter. “The control room is downstairs and has tunnels leading miles away in case we need to escape. I have a helicopter and three land routes out, even without the tunnels.”

Impressive. Shane nodded. “Does anyone know where you are?”

“No.” Nathan leaned back and grabbed a Guinness from the fridge. “We have office managers in New York and Chicago who report to me, but they don’t know where our headquarters is located. Nobody would even guess Rebel, Montana.” He swallowed deep and then set his bottle on the table. “Are you and your wife moving in, Shane?”

“Temporarily. Then I’ll find her a safe place.”

“No. If you’re making her family, then she’s my family, too.” Nate’s eyes darkened.

“Never alone,” Matt said quietly.

Relief and the sense of home washed through Shane. “I, ah—”

“You’re welcome,” his brothers both said quietly and in unison.

Nate sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He did. And he knew, without a doubt, that his brother would protect Josie with his life if Shane were off on a mission.

Nathan stretched his arms. “Enough emotion—next we’re going to end up hugging and talking about our feelings. I’ve been monitoring all lines… no record of the explosion or anyone falling out of a plane.”

Shane hissed out a breath. Damn government conspirators. He’d even dropped off the body of the dead pilot near the explosion site when he’d fetched his brothers. Apparently the commander had gained some serious clout. “I talked to Malloy. He came up with some story about an anonymous tip that he checked out at the airport… and found the fire and bodies.”

“The cop is protecting us?” Matt asked, both eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” Shane stretched his hands. “Malloy’s a good guy—and he wants Josie to be safe. We’re the only ones who can guarantee that.”

Matt eyed Shane. “Well?”

“Well what?” He fought the urge to shift his weight under the watchful gaze of his older brother.