Navajo Echoes. Cassie Miles

John asked.

      “A malfunction with the fuel gauge. I filled up in Kingston, but the gauge shows we’re almost empty.” He pointed through the cockpit window at a speck in the midst of the vast turquoise sea. “Cuerva is dead ahead.”

      Dead ahead? That sounded ominous. John’s gaze focused on the fuel gauge. The indicator edged closer to Empty.

      “Rather a fascinating island,” Edgar said. “A British protectorate, like the Caymans and Jamaica. The population is small, approximately eight thousand, and the residents claim to be descended from the infamous Caribbean pirates and escaped slaves from the sugar plantations in Jamaica. Cuerva was slow to develop its tourist trade.”

      “There are hotels now,” John said. He and Lily were registered at the Grand Cuerva.

      “The island’s governor, Ramon St. George, has done much to encourage visitors. You’ll probably meet him. He’s a very visible presence on the island. Quite charming.”

      The engine coughed. John was beginning to think that the malfunction might be more serious than a gauge that needed adjusting.

      “However,” Edgar continued, “you should be advised that Governor St. George is a powerful and very dangerous man. His real interest lies in the establishment of offshore banking and financial institutions. He might be involved in money laundering or smuggling.”

      “Your plane isn’t equipped to make a water landing,” John said. He’d seen the wheels on the fixed undercarriage when they boarded.

      “Ocean landings are notoriously choppy.”

      “I suggest you cut the speed to conserve fuel.”

      “I’ve already done so.”

      They were flying low. The island was close enough that John could see the outline of tall trees and a cliff above a white beach.

      “Can you bring her down?” John said.

      “I fully intend to try.”

      The engine sputtered and died. The propeller stopped. The reassuring whir was replaced with silence as the plane dipped lower. Out of fuel. They were going down.

      

      THE CESSNA SHUDDERED SO violently that Lily couldn’t tell if she was trembling or not. She was scared. That was for sure. They were going into a dive.

      Beside her, Edgar pulled back on the yoke. His feet danced on the rudder pedals.

      John yanked her out of the cockpit seat. “Back here,” he said. “You’ll be safer.”

      “We’re going to crash.”

      “Yes.” His dark eyes peered into hers as he fastened a seat belt across her lap. “Cover your head and hold on tight.”

      They plummeted lower. Her stomach lurched. There was nothing she could do but bend down and kiss her life goodbye.

      The only mercy was that she didn’t have much time to think about what was happening. Within seconds, they hit the water. Her world turned upside down. A tremendous impact. A fierce jolt that rattled her bones.

      She was aware of the wind and the water as the plane broke apart. Her shoulder crashed against something, and she recoiled. She felt a sharp pain in her head. Thrown free from the seat belt, she was falling.

      The sea surged over her. Barely conscious, she tried to swim, but her arms and legs wouldn’t respond properly. Had she been injured? Was she paralyzed? A wave splashed in her face, and she gulped salt water.

      Her mind froze at the edge of consciousness, unable to process the most simple commands. She’d forgotten how to move, how to react, how to breathe. Helplessly, she felt herself sinking into the sea, and she knew this was the end of her life. She was going to die before she’d even had a chance to live. Only twenty-six years old. Still a virgin. Too damned young to die.

      She felt herself being lifted, dragged back to the surface. John was holding her. “Lily, wake up.”

      Through a churning haze she saw him. His wet black hair plastered to his head like a seal. “Lily!” he shouted.

      She blinked wildly. Her eyes stung. But she wasn’t dead. The realization gave her strength. Her arms reached for him, clung to him. She gulped down air. Gasped. Coughed. “I’m okay.”

      Beneath the surface, his legs were moving, treading water and keeping them both afloat. Holding her with one arm, he pulled her toward a flat section of wing that floated like a raft on the water. “I want you to get up on this. Lie across it.”

      She struggled, fighting the numbness that threatened to overwhelm her. With John’s help, she hauled her torso onto the wing and lay flat.

      “Stay there,” he said.

      “What are you going to do?”

      “Rescue our luggage.”

      His arms cut through the waves as he swam toward the tail of the plane that was gradually sinking beneath the waves. She saw Edgar helping him. They had all survived.

      The two men swam toward her, dragging luggage that they threw onto the wing beside her. They aimed the section of wing toward the shore and began to kick.

      “That was one hell of a belly flop,” John said.

      “Quite spectacular,” Edgar agreed.

      “We skipped across the water like a flat stone. Wish I had it on film.”

      “Indeed.”

      They were both laughing and grinning like idiots. She’d seen this reaction before when she was a police officer. Relief after intense danger affected different people in different ways. Some collapsed in shock. Some wept. Others screamed. Still others, like John and Edgar, made jokes and slapped each other on the back.

      Edgar glanced over his shoulder. “I rather wish I could have saved the painting of Martina. She was quite a wonderful woman. I’ve lost her four times.”

      “How?” Lily asked. Her voice was a hoarse croak.

      “Once in real life. Twice before in plane crashes. This will be the fourth.”

      Lily wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “You’ve crashed three times?”

      “Once on land in Costa Rica. That was bad. Almost lost my leg.” He took a breath. “Once on water near the Florida Keys. Now this.” Another breath. “I’m getting rather good at crash landing.”

      “Lucky for us,” John said.

      “Luck?” Edgar’s voice struck a high, disbelieving note. “This crash had nothing to do with chance, dear boy.”

      “How so?”

      “We were sabotaged,” Edgar said. “We were meant to die.”

      Chapter Two

      When they were close to shore, Lily slid off the section of wing into a rolling surf. She staggered toward the deserted beach that wasn’t nearly as pretty as it had seemed from a distance. A thin strip of whitish-gray sand covered a jagged, rocky shoreline littered with bits of shell, rock and sharp coral from the nearby reefs. Untamed tropical forest reached almost to the edge of the water.

      Not paradise, but she wasn’t complaining. She was thankful to be on dry land, to still be alive. The crusty sand crunched beneath her feet as she staggered toward a thick log that had washed ashore, and she sat on it. Holding her head in her hands, she closed her eyes and exhaled a deep breath. Apart from an ache in her left shoulder and a ringing in her ears, she was physically okay. Her mental state was a whole different matter.

      Behind her eyelids, she replayed the terror of sinking into the ocean, helpless to react, trapped in death’s cold embrace. Never before had she felt so close to her own mortality. Shake it off.

      She