Hidden Identity. Carol J. Post

A small plane flew several yards above the water, too low to be on course for the Cedar Key Airport.

      The roar became a whine, and the nose dipped. Her pulse quickened and she froze, holding her breath. The pilot leveled it out, but a second later the plane slammed against the water, sending spray shooting twenty feet into the air.

      Meagan let out a startled scream and sprinted back to snatch her phone from her camera bag. She dialed 911 while running to her boat, then made her way over the waves with her four-horse motor wide-open. The plane appeared to be sitting lower in the water than when it had first crashed. It was sinking.

      Panic spiraled through her, sucking the air from her lungs. Help would never arrive in time. There was no good way to die, but gasping for air as water filled the lungs had to be one of the worst.

      She coasted to a stop in front of the plane and peered through the windshield, relaying what she saw to the dispatcher. There were two occupants, the pilot and a passenger. The pilot’s head was cocked at an unnatural angle, his neck apparently broken. She grimaced, but forced herself to study him. If he was breathing, it was too shallow to be obvious.

      The passenger was unconscious, but his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. She steered the boat around to look through the side window. Water seemed to be rushing in from below. It swirled around the men’s legs, already halfway covering their thighs. The Cedar Key Fire rescue boat would be on its way. But the plane was sinking fast. She had to do something.

      She disconnected the call with the emergency operator and donned her life vest. As she prepared to leave the safety of the boat, her chest tightened, the lingering remnant of a lifelong fear of water. She brushed it aside. The man’s life depended on her keeping a clear mind and acting quickly.

      She threw herself over the side of the boat and into the warm Gulf water. When she reached the plane, she braced both feet against its side, gripped the door handle and pulled. Twice. It didn’t budge.

      When she attempted it a third time, desperation added to her efforts. She yanked with all her might, summoning a strength she didn’t know she had. The door opened a crack, creaking in protest. Renewed energy spiked through her.

      After several more tugs, she had the door open far enough for her to slip through. She reached for the seat belt, but the latch was jammed.

      “Come on.” She pressed and pulled and yanked, but the belt refused to release its prisoner.

      Her heart stuttered. Time was running out. The water was already past his waist. She had to free him. She scanned the cockpit, but didn’t see anything useful.

      Maybe she had something. She mentally ticked through the items in her tackle box—sunscreen, rope, a waterproof flashlight and...a multi-tool. Hope surged through her. She could use the knife to cut the belt.

      Moments later, she set to work, sawing until she had sliced halfway through the thick nylon. The water had risen to the man’s chest. His head rolled to the side, and a groan made its way up his throat.

      “Hang loose. I’m getting you out of here.”

      Meagan resumed sawing, her motions more frantic with every passing second. When the last thread finally let go, breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding spilled out in a relieved sigh.

      But it wasn’t over yet. She still had to pull him from the plane. Then if she could get her spare life jacket on him, maybe she could free the pilot. She gently lifted the shoulder harness over the man’s head, then grasped his arms and pulled. The left one came forward. A gold wedding band glistened in the sunlight. He was married, maybe even still had kids at home. People who needed him.

      It took several more tugs to wrestle him through the opening. When she glanced back inside, the plane was almost full of water. Her chest clenched. She was out of time.

      During the next minute, she kept the passenger afloat and watched the water rise over the pilot’s face, covering his mouth, his nose and finally his eyes. She drew in several sharp, jagged gasps. The worst way to die...

      No, he wasn’t suffering. There was no struggle, no response at all. He was likely already dead, killed on impact, neck broken. He wasn’t drowning.

      She closed her eyes against a sudden wave of nausea. Weakness washed through her, and a ringing sounded in her ears, slowly building to a roar. She opened her eyes and turned. A boat was speeding toward her, nose in the air. Some distance behind was a second, quickly closing the gap.

      The lead boat reached her first, carrying Cedar Key police officer Hunter Kingston. Dressed in a white T-shirt with a picture of a fish spanning his chest, he apparently wasn’t on duty. But as he drew up next to her, she had to admit he looked as good out of uniform as in.

      “I was fishing over on the other side of Atsena Otie Key when I heard the plane.” He threw the motor into idle and dropped the anchor. “Was anyone else inside?”

      “Yeah, the pilot. I’m pretty sure the impact killed him, broke his neck.” At least that was what she would keep telling herself. “I didn’t have time to feel for a pulse or anything.”

      The Cedar Key Fire rescue boat approached, its engines drowning out Hunter’s next words. Wade Tanner stood at the helm, Joe Stearn next to him. After taking a few seconds to get details from her, they went to work. Joe got into the water with a plastic backboard while Wade circled around to the other side of the plane. Its wings floated on the surface of the waves, the body submerged. Wade would work to free the pilot, but it would be too late. Probably six or seven minutes had passed since he’d sunk beneath the water.

      A lump formed in her throat, and she once again reined in her thoughts. She would keep focusing on the man she was able to save instead of the one she’d lost. Within minutes, Wade and Joe would be speeding toward the marina, where an ambulance would be waiting, or possibly a helicopter. The man still might not survive, but she had done all she could. The rest was up to fate.

      Before returning to her boat, she glanced back down at the plane’s passenger. Joe had worked the backboard under him. His eyes were closed, but he was still breathing. And there wasn’t any blood. Of course, there could be internal injuries. And broken bones. And likely a head injury, since he still hadn’t regained consciousness.

      Hunter followed her gaze. “You know who that is, don’t you?”

      Dread slid down her throat. Please, not somebody famous.

      Hunter continued before she could answer. “Richard Daniels. He’s one of our US senators.”

      The dread morphed to full-blown anxiety. Reporters. News cameras. She had to get out of there before they arrived. She began to swim toward her boat. It had drifted about thirty feet from where she had left it.

      Hunter’s voice stopped her. “Need some help?”

      “I could use it.” Hers was a small johnboat, and she wasn’t sure she could get in without capsizing it.

      Hunter helped her onto his boat, then pulled up beside hers and held it steady while she stepped in. Once she had settled onto the seat, she looked back at him, ready to offer her thanks. But her words caught in her throat. He was smiling over at her, a warmth in his gaze that she’d never seen before.

      “You saved Daniels’s life. You kept your head and acted fast. You should be proud.”

      Proud? She hadn’t thought about it. But Hunter was proud of her. She could tell. And it created an odd flutter in her stomach. With that soft, sandy blond hair, those gorgeous blue eyes and the fact that he was just an all-around nice guy, she was surprised he was still single. But from what she’d heard, he was too busy to devote time to romance. Besides his full-time job with Cedar Key Police Department, he taught a middle school boys Sunday school class and had his hand in almost every volunteer activity on Cedar Key.

      Yes, Hunter was a special man. A year ago she would have been interested. Now she knew better. She’d been there and done that. And had the scars to prove it.

      Hunter