Impulsive (44 page)

"I'm asking for a raise when we land," Jess joked to Ty.
"If Forsyth can afford this, he's got money to burn."

The pilot, finished with his precheck, emerged from the cockpit
and headed toward the back of the plane. "Okay, we're all set. Buckle up.
I've got to signal the ground crew to remove the stairs, secure the rear door,
and we're off."

"Aren't you going to give us the usual spiel about flotation
devices and oxygen masks?" Jess inquired as he passed.

He grinned. "Nope. I figure as much as you two travel, you
could recite it to me, word for word."

The pilot had just reached the door, when a man pushed past him
onto the plane, lugging his bulging travel bag with him. "I almost missed
you," he panted. "Got room for one more?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Nelson," the pilot greeted.
"Welcome aboard."

Jess turned in surprise. "Tommy! What are you doing
here?"

"That's a stupid question if ever I've heard one," her
godfather replied, plopping into a chair. "I'm going to Chicago."

"But..."

"Honey, I just couldn't bear that huge, silent house a minute
longer. Everything in it reminds me of Anita. So," he said, with a
palms-up gesture, "here I am, bag and baggage. I can eat turkey just as
well in Chicago as I can here, and be with people I like. Maybe it'll cheer me
up some. At any rate, it can't be as bad as sitting at home alone."

"That's the ticket, Tommy."

"Will you be coming to the game, too?" Ty inquired.

"I thought I might," Tom told them. "If it gets to
be too much for me, I'll go back to the hotel and cry in my beer."

There was a short delay while they awaited their turn for takeoff.
Then they were up, soaring into the sky. Jess peered out the window. "The
pilot was right. Just look at that magnificent sunrise. I hadn't realized we'd
see it right away. It's still dark on the ground."

"It's the difference in horizontal angle," Tom explained,
as he rose and headed for the galley. "Coffee, anyone?"

He brought the entire carafe back to the table, along with four
cups. "Hey, Jimbo!" he called out to the pilot. "You ready for a
refill on the java? I'll trade you for a ride in the copilot's seat."

"Bring it on," came the reply from the cockpit.

Tom went forward, leaving Ty and Jess to themselves.

"Does Tom strike you as just a bit too jovial?" Ty asked
in a low voice.

Jess nodded on a sad sigh. "He's trying too hard to put up a
good front. I wonder if he's really broken down and cried yet? When Dad and
Mike died, it took my grandpa several days for the shock to wear off and
reality to set in. You have to let the grief out, before you can start to heal.
The longer you hold it in, the worse it gets."

Jess and Ty were nodding off when Tom rejoined them. "How you
doing back here, kids? Catching your forty winks?"

Ty yawned, not even bothering to open his eyes. "I was wide
awake when we took off, but I can barely hold my eyes open now. Must be the
change in air pressure."

"Or the movement of the plane," Jess murmured drowsily
from her seat next to him. "It's as lulling as sitting in a rocking
chair."

Her fingers curled around Ty's forearm, giving it a squeeze. Ty
smiled. Then he heard the loud rip. His eyes popped open, but not in time. Tom
had already secured his other wrist to the armrest, binding it tightly with
duct tape—just as he'd done a moment ago when Ty had thought Jess was touching
him.

"Hey! What's the deal here?" Ty exclaimed. He blinked,
trying to make sense of it all. His brain was slow to react, his reflexes
sluggish. He watched in a daze as Tom swiftly bound first one of Jess's arms,
then the other to her own chair. She tried to fight him, to swat his hand away.
Tom was stronger, faster. Within seconds he had her secured as well.

Tom stepped back, eyeing his work with satisfaction. "That's
better. Now I know you won't be giving me any trouble. No more than old Jimbo
will. He's out like a light, thanks to those sleeping tablets I dissolved in the
coffee."

"Who... who's flying the plane?" Jess asked, her words
slurred.

"Ever hear of autopilot, little girl?"

"But..." She focused on him fuzzily. Tom had his duffel
bag open on one of the tables and was pulling some sort of padded coverall from
it. "Whatcha need that for?"

"I'll give you three guesses. The first two don't count.
Here's a clue, Jessie. It's called a jumpsuit. And this"—he hoisted a
thick backpack—"is a parachute."

"You're gonna jump?" Ty's words, too, were slow in
emerging.

"Right."

Jess yanked at the tape binding her arms. "Why, Tommy? What's
going on?"

Tom smiled. "I thought you'd have figured that out by now,
smart gal that you are. Then again, you weren't smart enough to back off when I
warned you to. Now, you're going to have to pay the consequences. You and lover
boy, here."

His words finally jarred something in her brain. "You're...
you're the one," she exclaimed softly, a look of horror coming over her
face. "You're the killer."

"Oh, I can't take all the credit," he replied smoothly.
He stuffed one leg into the jumpsuit, then the other. "Johnson carried out
most of the legwork, at least to start with. But, you already knew that, didn't
you?"

"You killed him," she surmised.

"I had to. The cops were after him, and he would have pointed
them toward me."

"The spa. You locked us in? Did you cut my brake line,
too?"

He nodded, appearing proud of himself. "Surprising what you
can learn on the Internet these days. Even how to rig a letter bomb, or in this
case, a flower box bomb."

Jess gasped, her face going white.

"Why?" Ty growled. "Why kill Jess? Or any of
us?"

"Basically, it all boils down to money," Tom confessed
as he zipped up the front of the suit and reached for the parachute pack.
"You might say I overextended myself. I need a tax write-off in the worst
way. The Knights go under, I get one. Anita dies, I get the insurance, and can
pay back the 'loan' I took out at the bank before it's discovered in the next
audit. I also altered that policy Jess has with the team. After you, Tyler, I'm
her designated beneficiary. Not dear, fickle Claudia."

"Is that what all this is?" Jess surmised incredulously,
her voice shrill with fear. "A payback because Mom chose Dad and John over
you?"

"That's the frosting on the cake," Tom admitted. He
shrugged into the parachute. "Your death is going to be a terrible blow to
her, Jessie. Just as your father's and brother's were. It's no less than she
deserves."

"You can't do this, Nelson," Ty declared, fighting
against his bonds.

Tom's laugh was pure evil. "Who's going to stop me?"

"They'll know this wasn't an accident. When they only find
three bodies, they'll know it was you."

"But nobody else saw me come aboard," Tom gloated.
"I made sure of that. As far as anyone knows, I'm hiding away, licking my
wounds. Just a poor, heartbroken widower." From the duffel, he took a
helmet, tugging it on. "Now, let me lay it out for you. As I said, the
plane is on autopilot. If it doesn't collide in midair with another aircraft,
you'll stay airborne until it runs out of fuel. I dumped most of that, by the
way." He chuckled. "Oh, and don't worry about not being able to reach
the oxygen masks. We're flying at a lower altitude, as well as a slower speed,
to make my jump easier. After all, I haven't done this since my Air Force
days."

He reached out to stroke Jess on the cheek, shaking his head at
her when she pulled back from him. "Believe it or not, I really am sorry
it's come to this, Jessie. If you would just have heeded my warnings. Forsyth
talked me into hiring you for that article. I'd hoped you'd make fast work of
it and be gone. But you had to stay and stick your nose in where it didn't belong.
Sooner or later, you would have caught on to me. I knew it the minute I
reviewed your computer discs."

Tears coursed down her face, blurring her image of him even more.
"No, Tommy. Please," she begged. "Don't do this to me. To
Ty."

"You won't feel a thing," he told her, his tone soft and
loving. "By the time the plane goes down, you'll both be fast asleep. I
promise." He started for the back of the plane and the rear door.
"Give my regards to Anita when you see her."

They were screaming after him as he unlatched the door and shoved
it open. Wind rushed into the plane with a roar, sending debris flying through
the interior ahead of it. Tom stumbled backward, before catching hold of the
frame. Then he propelled himself through the opening and vanished.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Jess was praying between hysterical
sobs.

Beside her, Ty was applying all his strength against that of the
tape. "Jess! Jess! Listen to me! We've got to get loose, before we pass
out."

"H... How? There's no way!"

"That glass coffee container," he shouted over the wind.
"It's right there in front of you. Can you reach it?"

Not understanding, she wiggled her fingers toward the carafe,
which had blown to the edge of the table and was about to tumble off.

"No, Jess! Bend forward. Grab it with your teeth."

She caught the handle in her mouth, just as the glass pot was
about to slide into her lap.

"Knock it against the table. Break it," Ty told her.

Jess squeezed her eyes shut. What were a few cuts, compared to the
pile of blood and bones she was bound to be after the crash? Lunging forward,
she rapped the carafe as hard as she could against the edge of the table. It
shattered, sending shards flying back at her. At the same time, the plastic
handle slammed painfully against her lips and teeth. Though she tried, she
couldn't hold on to it. It fell into her lap.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she wailed.

"It's okay, Jess. Open your eyes. Help me here, babe."

"I'm tired. So tired."

"Don't conk out on me, Jess. See if you can reach it with
your fingers."

She had to bounce her knees to jiggle the handle close enough, but
she finally managed to grasp it.

"Good. Swivel your chair toward mine a bit. There. Now, aim
that metal ring my way, as close to my arm as you can reach. C'mon, Jess!
Stretch! Don't let go of the handle, whatever you do!"

They strained toward each other. The band barely reached the
distance between them, just touching the side of Ty's chair. "Now, hold it
as steady as you can."

Wobbling to and fro, swiveling his own chair frantically, Ty
scraped his forearm back and forth against the sharp edge of the aluminum hoop.
Bit by bit, the tape began to fray, until it loosened enough for Ty to pull his
hand free. And not a moment too soon. The handle slipped from Jess's limp grasp
as she slumped forward, succumbing at last to the drugged coffee.

Working left-handed, it took Ty longer than he wanted to free his
right hand. Then, as much as he wanted to do the same for Jess, he dared not
take the time. He was getting more and more woozy, and Lord only knew how long
they had before the fuel ran out.

Bracing himself, Ty made his way to the cockpit. Jim, the pilot,
was slouched in his seat. Ty shook him, slapped him, yelled into his ear. It
was no use.

He turned toward the instrument panel, trying to quell his panic
as he scanned the complicated array of knobs and dials. The only thing he
recognized was a microphone, similar to the one in the police cruiser. Picking
it up, he pressed the button and screamed into the mouthpiece. "Mayday!
Mayday! Can anybody hear me?"

Nothing. Dead silence. There was a numbered dial near the cord. He
turned it and tried again. And again. Finally he hit a channel in use.
"Mayday!" he yelled. "Mayday!"

"This is South Bend tower. What's your situation?"

Ty wasted no words. "We're aboard a small jet. Low on fuel.
Pilot unconscious. On autopilot, I think."

"Do you know your call letters? Your coordinates? Your
altitude?"

"I don't know jack shit, except that we're going to
crash!"

"Okay, buddy. Calm down. Now, are you in the pilot's
seat?"

"No, the copilot's." Ty launched himself into the seat.

"There should be a headset there. Do you see it?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Put it on. Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Good. I can read you, too. You can let loose of the mike
now. Who am I talking to?"

"Ty James."

For once, the man didn't ask if he was Ty James, the quarterback.
"Have you ever flown a plane before, Ty?"

"Not in this lifetime," Ty replied shakily.

"We're going to walk you through it, step by step," the
voice assured him. He went on to tell Ty where to find the readings he needed
in order to determine the location and altitude of the jet. "Gotcha.
You're on my screen. Now, you're headed due west. We need to correct that.
Here's what you have to do."