LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Yeah, actually, it is,” she shot back, surprising him with her blunt answer.

      He hadn’t expected her to cop to it so easily. “Heroin? Meth? Pot?”

      “Nothing illegal. Pharmaceuticals. I hate to burst your bubble, but what they’re after is totally legal.”

      “Yeah, like I buy that,” he shot back derisively. “Don’t let my baby face fool you. I’ve been around the block enough times to know that people don’t hand out bullet sandwiches for Tylenol. What the hell is really going on?”

      “Look, nothing has changed. I’m still willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money for you to transport me to South America. We’ve lost the people who were shooting at us, so let’s just stay the course.”

      “Stay the course? Are you kidding me? People put bullets in my plane. There’s no course I want to travel that involves bullets. You hear me? No way, lady. I’m finding the first open airfield and dropping you off. You can find a different chump to peddle your story to, because I ain’t buying.”

      “No? From my research, Blue Yonder is dangerously close to shutting its doors. You’re teetering on bankruptcy. I’m offering you one job that could put you in the black.”

      “How do you know my personal banking information?” he demanded, chafing at his privacy being invaded. He’d had enough of the government knowing his every move when he’d been property of the good ole US of A.

      “Trust me—it’s not as if you’re living off the grid. A simple Google search with the right query and I found everything I needed to know. Am I right?”

      “That’s not the point,” he groused, feeling exposed. “The point is, it’s none of your business to go poking around in my private affairs.”

      “Look, I’m not the enemy. I’m just a scientist and I need your help to get to my company’s lab in South America. Can you do that?”

      “I can, but I won’t,” he answered, still thinking about the holes in his plane and how he was going to repair them when the bank account was dangerously dry.

      She must’ve sensed a break in his resolve. “I can’t express to you how important it is that I get to my destination. Make your offer and I’ll pay it. My company will authorize a handsome sum to get what I’m carrying.”

      “What are you carrying?”

      “Part of the deal will be no questions asked. It’s safer for you that way.”

      “Well, now you’re just leading me on. Either you tell me or I turn around.”

      “Your business will be toes up by next month,” she countered firmly. “And then what? You have the opportunity to stave off the inevitable or maybe even pull out of this skid. But if you drop me off, your business is certain to fail because I didn’t see anyone else knocking down your door to throw money at you.”

      He hated that she was right. Hadn’t Teagan pounded that point into his head last night? Hadn’t his brother’s reasoning rung in his brain in spite of J.T.’s attempt to drown it out with Cuervo? By the bottom of the tequila bottle, things had seemed pretty hopeless.

      Until the hot, troublesome redhead had walked onto the property.

      But now he didn’t know if he was about to make a devil’s bargain.

      “What kind of money are we talking?” he asked with grudging curiosity. He was already up in the air. Maybe it wouldn’t be too much trouble to get her to where she needed to go, drop her off, then take the money and run.

      “Enough to keep you afloat for a few months, maybe six if you’re frugal. My company has very deep pockets.”

      Damn, that was persuasive. “And I’m just supposed to drop you off, no questions asked, and that’s it? I never hear from you again and no more people come after me with guns?”

      “That’s exactly the deal, Mr. Carmichael.”

      Didn’t seem so bad. Maybe it could work. It would certainly quell Teagan’s all-fired desire to cut bait and bail on their dream.

      He had to make a choice. They were about two minutes away from critical decision-making time. Giving up Blue Yonder was like asking him to cut off his favorite finger—the middle one—and he didn’t see that happening. All they needed was a little time to sort things out. Business would pick up. He could feel it in his bones.

      They flew past the last available airfield and his decision was effectively made.

      “All right, I’ll take the deal. But I need to know your name, at the very least, unless you want me to call you Hey, lady the entire flight.”

      “Seems fair enough.” She took a breath and said, “My name is Dr. Hope Larsen. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carmichael.”

      “Okay, let’s get one thing straight... My father was Mr. Carmichael. If you know everything about my private business, but the color of my drawers, I think you can call me J.T.”

      She nodded. “J.T. it is, then.”

      “Doctor, huh? Like an MD?”

      “Science doctor. A molecular biologist.”

      Damn. He knew the deal was to keep quiet, but the questions were already bubbling around in his head. What the hell kind of scientist got shot at? What was the pretty doctor involved with?

      Collect the money and leave the questions.

      That was sound advice—the kind of advice that would likely keep him on the right side of breathing.

      But as he’d realized too late after one too many altercations with the higher-ups, he wasn’t so good about taking orders without question.

      He had a feeling dodging bullets might be easier than keeping his mouth shut.

      As it turned out, they had bigger problems than the questions he wasn’t allowed to ask.

      “Shit,” he muttered, his gaze trained on the altimeter.

      “What’s wrong?”

      His lips seamed together. This was all sorts of bad.

      “J.T.?” The worry in her tone mirrored the bad feeling in his gut. “Is something wrong?”

      “Yeah, you could say that,” he said, tapping his altimeter, hoping it was just a glitch. But when the needle continued to sink, he knew things were about to get dicey. His gaze traveled the gauges, locking on the fuel. Bingo. You’ve located the problem.

      “What is it?”

      “Buckle up, Doc,” he said, gritting his teeth. “We’re about to run out of gas.”

      “What?” She frantically tightened her belt. “Where are we?”

      “Best guess? Somewhere over Mexico.”

      And nowhere near an airfield.

      A grim smile found his mouth.

      And he’d mistakenly thought getting shot at was the worst that could happen.

      He just loved it when Murphy’s Law seemed hell-bent on kicking him in the ass.

      * * *

      “WAIT! WHAT DO you mean you’re running out of gas?” Hope screeched, unable to hide her panic. “Fix it. Do something!”

      “I’m open to ideas, doll face, but unless you have a way to patch the hole that has no doubt been ripped through my fuel tank, we’re out of options.”

      Sweat gathered at her brow as her fingers gripped the seat beneath her. “What are the odds of surviving a crash like this?” she asked, clinging to facts and figures as her life flashed before her eyes. “Give me a percentage.”

      “You don’t want

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