Chapter 30
THIRTY
MY BONES
Gordain
My older brother, after his wedding, had confided in me a secret.
He said he felt such a strong connection to Mathilda that he found himself distracted when she wasn’t around.
Worrying about her. Even fearful for her safety.
Like his heart was walking around outside of his body, at risk and needing constant care.
Falling in love with Ella was having the same effect on me.
Something was wrong. I sensed it in my bones.
The farther I flew from Belvedere, the stronger I had the urge to turn around.
By the time I touched down on the helipad at the hospital, I was almost frantic. James and Beth disappeared inside the hospital, supported by hospital staff in scrubs, hurrying to escape the now-driving rain.
I checked my phone, anxiety having me twitching.
No messages from Ella. But there was a missed call and voicemail from an unknown number. I played the message, turning up the sound to counteract the drumming rain on the heli’s glass.
Autumn Phillips’s voice came out of the speaker. “So sorry for the confusion, and for showing up with my nephew at such a bad time. Ella said…”
I stopped listening, my head in a spin. I knew the baby couldn’t be mine, but we’d just had that conversation, and I’d tried to work through my trauma. Autumn being there had rattled my cage.
Even so, thank fuck was the order of the day.
I tuned back in as she wrapped up her message.
“Anyway, call me back if you want to discuss any part of the case. I hope I did a good job representing you. You’ll be able to join your old team in the RAF, if you choose.
Your wife mentioned you had a new career now, but I wanted to fix the mess I’d made.
She’s a really lovely woman. Congratulations.
I just saw her uncle and said the same thing.
He seemed surprised, so I hope I didn’t let the cat out of the bag. Goodbye.”
Uncle?
I replayed the last few seconds, my throat seizing.
Richard? He’d gone to Belvedere?
My throat constricted, fear gripping my muscles.
I shot a text to James then fired up the heli, setting a flight plan to the Peaks, circumnavigating the multiple weather warnings. I had to fly.
Ella needed me.
The storm ripped open the sky, lightning tearing holes in the thick cloud. Below, the craggy Peak District hills jutted, menacing in their starkness. A world away from the pleasant land Ella and I had surveyed not long before.
I hauled on the stick, all my energy going into keeping flying straight.
Strong wind buffeted, worse than I’d ever flown in. But even so, I had total control. My weeks on the oil rigs had served me well.
Then a flash of light and a bang rocked the craft.
The engine stuttered, and I jerked, the harness dragging over my new tattoo.
The heli had been struck?
Holy fuck.
I knew the drill. This happened all the time in the North Sea—heli’s acted as lightning conductors—but the damage was usually minimal.
A warning alarm gonged.
What the hell?
Oh no. No! My navigation system had blown. My Terrain Awareness and Warning System knocked out.
Smoke billowed from a large hole in the tail.
The heli plummeted from the sky.