Chapter 15
The sun hadn’t yet cleared the horizon when she climbed back into the Beaver’s engine compartment, and she was already covered in grease and sweat.
Below her, Levi stood ready with tools, trying to anticipate what she’d need before she asked. Wrench. Socket. Wire cutters. They’d developed a rhythm over the last twenty hours or so. It was a shorthand that came from learning each other’s patterns, reading intent in the smallest gestures.
“That’s the last fuel line,” she said, tightening a connection with careful precision. Her shoulders ached, her hands cramped, but the satisfaction of watching this dead bird slowly come back to life made every bit of pain worth it. “Now, we just need to hope the fuel pump works when we test it.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then I rebuild the fuel pump. Which adds another six hours.” She wiped sweat from her forehead, probably leaving another streak of grease. She’d long since stopped caring what she looked like. “But let’s be optimistic for once.”
Levi straightened quickly. “You? Optimistic? Should I check for fever?”
She threw a rag at him, and he caught it with that infuriating grin that made her want to kiss him and throttle him in equal measure.
They’d been working nonstop, only breaking for brief rest periods and rations that tasted like cardboard.
But the Beaver was transforming under her hands.
She glanced at the engine. New fuel lines replaced corroded ones, engine components cleaned and reinstalled, and holes patched with materials from Guardian’s supply drop.
It was coming together. Slowly. Impossibly.
Like everything else in her life lately.
“How long?” Levi asked, and she heard the weight behind the question.
She climbed down, landing with a slight wince as her rolled ankle protested. “For it to fly? Another twelve hours, minimum. Maybe fifteen if we hit complications.” She moved to their makeshift workbench, studying the avionics components. “For it to fly safely? Add another six.”
“We don’t have eighteen hours.”
“I know.” The words came out sharper than intended. She took a breath, softened her tone. “But I can’t make physics work faster. The engine needs time to break in after sitting cold for thirty years. The seals need to set. The—”
“I know.” He moved beside her, and the heat of him cut through the space between them. “I’m not questioning your work. Just thinking out loud.”
“Thinking dangerous thoughts from the sound of it.”
“All my thoughts are dangerous.” He picked up a circuit board, examining it with the careful attention he gave to everything. Levi was always learning. “What’s this for?”
“Radio. Old-school VHF, but it’ll work for basic navigation.” She took it from him, their fingers brushing, and that familiar static jumped between them. “Better than flying blind, anyway.”
She started installing the radio, hyper-aware of him working beside her. They’d crossed some invisible line in that cave. They’d gone from partners to something else, something that felt permanent. And the scary part was how natural it felt. How right.
“Tell me about Jakarta,” she said suddenly, needing to hear his voice, needing the connection that came from shared stories.
He looked up, surprised. “What?”
“The scar on your shoulder. You said Jakarta, a target with a knife.” She kept working, giving him the option to deflect. “Tell me the whole story.”
He was quiet for a moment, and she thought he might refuse.
Then he started talking. “My mission was an arms dealer. The bastard was selling modified anti-aircraft weapons to terrorist groups. They were altered with poison gases. Guardian tracked him and the weapons to a warehouse in Jakarta. They sent me to do my job and destroy his inventory.”
She asked him for a screwdriver and waited for him to continue his story.
“I got inside fine. Planted charges on the weapons cache, which was thankfully underground.”
She moved a bit to be able to reach the screw she needed to tighten. “Why thankfully?”
“Ah, poison gases. If they’d gone into the atmosphere, that would’ve been bad. I could collapse cement and land over them without endangering anyone.”
“Did Guardian know where they were before they sent you in?”
“Yeah, sure. Otherwise, they would’ve sent in a team that could’ve deactivated them.”
“They have those types of teams?” She handed back the screwdriver. “Seven sixteenths, please.” She felt the wrench drop into her open hand and waited for him to continue.
“Yeah, absolutely. They have any resource you could ask for. After I set the charges, I found my way to his office. Here, let me hold that.” His hands moved steadily as he helped her secure the radio mount.
“But he wasn’t alone. The target had two bodyguards I didn’t know about, and the fight went sideways. ”
She cocked her head. “The knife?”
“Bodyguard number one. Caught me across the shoulder while I was dealing with bodyguard number two.” He shrugged. “I had to choose between stopping the bleeding or completing the mission.”
“You completed the mission.” She knew the answer before he said it. Of course, he had.
“Yeah. Then I got the hell out and detonated the charges. I spent the next three hours with a needle and thread.”
“Alone?”
“Nope. Phantom is my usual backup. He can’t sew for shit, but he had some damn good bourbon, so I didn’t care too much after the first hour.”
Willow stopped working, turned to face him. “That sounds … disturbing.”
He laughed and shook his head. “It’s practical.”
“Where is he now?” She touched his shoulder, feeling the scar beneath the fabric.
“Who?” Levi looked at her, confused.
“Phantom?” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a weird call sign. What’s yours?”
“Berserker.” He lifted one eyebrow.
“Holy hell, that suits you.” Laughing, she reached for a socket. He handed it to her. “Why isn’t he with you this time?”
“He’s with a team that needs his skills. He’s been bugging Con like crazy for updates. As soon as he’s done with the team, he’s going to leave a six-foot-three hole in the atmosphere as he blasts his way here.”
“Until then?”
“I have you, and I’m not sorry about that.”
Lifting away from the radio, she sighed and hugged her knees before stretching her back as she sat on the rotting seat. “Neither am I. Company’s a nice change.”
“Company’s dangerous,” he said, but his eyes were warm. “Makes you care about things. Caring makes you sloppy.”
“And yet here you are. Working with a CIA contractor who keeps losing planes.”
“Here I am,” he agreed. “Being spectacularly sloppy.”
She kissed him then. It was quick and impulsive. “Good. Sloppy looks good on you.”
They went back to work, but something had shifted again. Another wall had come down. Another layer of armor was discarded. She was falling for him. Hell, she’d already fallen. The acknowledgment of that was matched only by how inevitable it felt.
Like gravity. Like flying. Like something she couldn’t fight even if she wanted to.
By late afternoon, Willow was ready to attempt an engine start.
Her hands shook slightly as she climbed into the cockpit. The shaking wasn’t from fear, but from exhaustion and the weight of what came next. If the engine didn't start, they were stranded. If it started but failed, they were stranded. If it started and ran but couldn't maintain power …
No. Stop borrowing trouble. She forced the thoughts away. One step at a time.
“Cross your fingers,” she called down to Levi.
He stood by the propeller, ready to check for problems. “Whenever you're ready.”
She ran through the start sequence like a prayer she’d memorized in her youth. It was a part of her. First fuel pump, mixture, magnetos. Her father's voice echoed in her memory. Talk to her. Let her know you believe in her.
“Come on, baby,” she whispered. “You can do this. I know you've been sleeping for thirty years, but it's time to wake up now. Time to fly.”
The engine turned over once. Twice.
Then caught.
The sound was terrible. It came as a coughing, sputtering roar that shook the entire airframe. Black smoke belched from the exhaust, and something made a grinding noise that sent ice down her spine.
But it was running. Actually running.
“YES!” She couldn't help shouting, couldn't help the tears that sprang to her eyes. “Come on, baby! You can do it!”
The engine smoothed out slightly. The violent shaking became more of a rhythmic pulse. Still sick, still rough, but alive.
She ran it for five minutes, watching temperatures climb, oil pressure stabilize, listening for the sounds that would tell her if anything were critically wrong. The grinding noise faded. The smoke cleared. The gauges all showed readings that were within acceptable parameters.
Barely acceptable. But acceptable. Probably. Hell, they’d have to be.
Finally, she shut it down, and the silence fell heavy around them.
Levi appeared at her window, and his grin was pure sunshine. “Well?”
She climbed out on shaking legs, feeling the weight of all the work. “She runs. Rough as hell, but she runs. We need to let the engine cool, check all the seals, and then do another test run. One more run-up to make sure everything holds under load.”
“How long for the second run?”
“Twenty minutes to cool down, then another five-minute test.” She was already moving, checking connections, looking for leaks. “After that, if everything looks good, we can fly.”
Levi cupped her face in his big hands and kissed her hard. “Never doubted you.”
“Liar.” But she was grinning. They'd done it. Against impossible odds, they'd resurrected another dead bird.
Levi went still suddenly, touching his ear. Listening to something on his comm. His expression shifted, then hardened, and her stomach dropped.
“What?” she asked, pulling back.
“Patrol. Twenty minutes out.” He grabbed his demo pack. “Three vehicles. Maybe fifteen men.”
“Levi, we're not ready. The engine needs to cool before the second run-up—”