Chapter 92
Ethan
I hand Tilda her backpack. “Stay here.”
She nods, and I jog into the center of the clearing.
It’s a natural break in the trees. An easy spot to see from above and close to the cabin, so these are the coordinates I have memorized.
Squinting against the sun, I look up. And a second later, a helicopter flies low into view.
I raise my arms and slowly wave them back and forth, my red flannel visible among the trees.
The chopper does a tight circle, letting me know he sees me, then I drop my arms and jog back to Matilda.
She’s hugging her little backpack to her chest, and she’s put her sunglasses on.
She looks nervous. And it makes my stomach ache.
I take her hand, and her fingers tremble against mine. But she doesn’t pull away.
Taking my own aviators out of my pocket, I put them on, and together we watch the helicopter land.
The skids touch down, the helicopter aimed right at us. But the pilot doesn’t get out. He just waves us forward.
Tilda must see the motion too because she takes a step. Even afraid, even with the rotor downwash blowing over us like a storm and the incredible noise, she still takes the step.
Holding my hand the whole way, Tilda follows me around to the passenger side of the chopper, crouching low like I do when we get close.
And I’m so fucking grateful she wears those cute little shorts under her dress. Because her dress is flying all over the place. And if the pilot saw her ass, we’d have problems.
I pull the door open, take Tilda’s backpack from her, then grip her by the hips and help her into the fuselage.
She slides to the center of the bench seat, and I hand up both backpacks before I climb inside.
Settling next to Tilda, opposite corner from the pilot, I shut the door, then face forward.
The pilot twists in his seat and hands two headsets back.
I take them both and help Tilda put hers on, then place mine over my ears.
The noise-canceling effects work immediately, dampening the sound of the blades.
The pilot is an older dude. Bushy gray eyebrows sticking out over the top of his sunglasses. And an equally bushy mustache covering the entirety of his top lip.
His mouth moves, and I hear it through the headphones. “Welcome aboard.”
I nod. “Appreciate the ride.”
“People call me Vulture.”
I think of that stupid code name Stoleman gave me and have to force myself not to grimace. “I’m Bunny.”
I hear Tilda’s snort through the headphones, and Vulture’s brows lift into his hairline.
“Thought the name was Ranger, but whatever floats your boat, kid.”
Tilda snickers, and I sigh.
“There is no code word, is there?”
Vulture’s mustache jumps when he grins. “Nope.”
I sit back in the seat. “Stoleman’s an asshole.”
The man laughs as he turns around to face front but doesn’t disagree. “Buckle up, Mr. and Mrs. Bunny. We’re taking off in one.”
I help Matilda with her seat belt, then do my own.
I lift my elbow away from my side, and Matilda immediately slides her arm through mine.
Ready? I mouth.
She nods.
“Ready,” I say.
And then we lift off the ground.