Setting Him Free

Setting Him Free

Alexandra Marell

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2005 Alexandra Marell

Full copyright notice at end to maximise sample

All characters in this publication are purely
fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.

Edited by Anne McCraw

As Quality Control Manager for Exotic Resorts Inc.,
Danielle Radley's life is one long round of sun, sea and sand.
Unfortunately, it also involves airplanes and Danielle hates flying
with a passion. Flying home from a tropical resort, she finds
herself sitting across the aisle from an enigmatic man handcuffed
to the seat. A man who fascinates her more than he should.

Taylor Bradford is a broken man. Tired of running,
he's glad the end is near. That is until he catches Danielle's eye
on the plane. A moment of instant connection awakens feelings he
thought long dead. When the plane gets into difficulty and starts
going down into the tropical rainforest below, he reaches for her
hand…

31,250 Words

Here we go again.

Engines screaming, the small jet hurtled down the
runway while Danielle Radley gripped the armrests of her seat and
closed her eyes, desperately trying to remember the
hypnotherapist's advice.

Butterflies, the sick feeling of panic - despite
years of therapy, they were still all there. Yet the only
alternative to these few hours of pure terror was to give up her
job. And not just any job, Quality Control Manager for
Exotic
Resorts Inc.
was a dream of a job. One long round of sun, sea
and sand. Gourmet food and luxury hotels. Beautiful people.
Worldwide travel which, unfortunately, involved flying.

The plane tilted sharply, her stomach lurched and she
began her mantra.

"It's worth it, it's worth it, it's worth it."

The island paradise fell away as the plane climbed
towards the flawlessly blue sky on its four-hour journey to the
mainland airport. Three-and-a-half if they were lucky. Danielle
opened her eyes when she felt the aircraft level out.
It'll soon
be over
. In a few hours she'd be on safe, solid land again.
Time for a few days of rest and to sort out the next project – then
the worrying would start all over again.

The Langhams ACG corporate Jetliner seated
twenty-eight, but today it was virtually empty with only seven
passengers on board. Danielle counted them, then sat back,
swallowed down her nerves and checked her watch.
Damn, only five
minutes into the flight.
Sweat trickled between her breasts,
and what had been a smart blouse only two hours ago was now a limp,
sorry excuse for business-wear. She rubbed at her neck, lifting her
pony-tail away from sticky skin, and blew out a long breath.

A single row of seats ran down her side of the plane
with doubles across the aisle, some forward-facing, some facing
each other. Normally the outbound flights were packed with the
party-elite still on their post-vacation high. Danielle liked to
fly with the clients – pretending to be one of them was the best
way to do her research – but today she'd given up her seat on the
commercial flight to a man who needed to return home for a family
emergency. After resigning herself to spending an extra night at
the resort, finding the special charter scheduled for the mainland
had been a stroke of luck. Her next trip, to Singapore, involved a
tight turnaround back in the States.

Two nuns sat across the aisle at the front of the
plane. What the blazes were they doing at the Tropicana? The small
airport really only served the few outlying islands and the hotel
complex, well-known as one of the wilder, more exclusive resorts. A
picture of the holy sisters dancing on
Fetish Night
popped
into her mind, making Danielle smile. Of course, they would have
blended right in.

The obligatory businessman sat one seat behind them.
She'd passed him on boarding, amazed at the way he'd started
checking through a thick sheaf of papers the moment he was settled,
looking completely unconcerned that this giant tube of metal not
only needed to achieve the extraordinary feat of getting itself off
the ground but was also required to cruise through the sky for four
hours, then land safely at the other end.

The other three people sat on the other side of the
aisle, in seats facing each other. People were her thing, and
playing
guess-who
at least helped to pass the time. Two of
them could have been clones with their identical dark suits and
sunglasses. One produced a handkerchief and wiped his face. The
other sprawled back, looking anything but relaxed. Fingers tapping
insistently on the window ledge, his steady gaze was levelled
firmly at the third member of the trio sitting opposite him in the
aisle seat.

Interpol, Danielle decided. Or CIA, MI6? Probably on
some top-secret – or, in their case, rather obvious – mission,
since they were doing a terrible job of blending in. Danielle
thought about moving, but knew that changing seats would just be
tempting fate. She could see the headline, now.
If only the
woman had remained in the same seat.

Calm down, they're not concerned, so why should you
be?

She turned her attention to the third man, sitting
only a few feet away across the aisle, and realised it wasn't only
his clothing that set him apart from the other two. The trio sat
together, but they weren't
together.
Yet they
were
connected somehow. Danielle unclipped her seatbelt and settled
back, glad of the distraction, flicking sideways glances so he
wouldn't catch her looking. A lot harder to fathom, the man was
already seated when she boarded, and she couldn't have failed to
notice him in his all-black attire. The sweat-drenched tee-shirt
clinging to his chest, the jeans and boots told her that here was a
man who didn't waste time on his wardrobe choices.

Light-brown hair, cropped short, darker at the roots
as if growing out a colour. A lean face, toned body, the muscles
well-defined against his tight tee.

And his expression? Verging on tragic, she decided.
And not just in the arrangement of his features. No, this came from
deep inside.

He stared straight ahead, as if in a trance, silent
and remote. The man had
keep off
written all over him.
Danielle checked him out, more than curious, unable to look away. A
man staring at the world with eyes that didn't seem to see.
Why?

The man twisted a little, as if trying to get
comfortable without attracting too much attention, and her gaze
dropped to his left arm, the one resting loosely between him and
his companion.
Handcuffs?
Her heart gave a jolt. One around
his wrist, the other clipped to the metal strut of the
arm-rest.

How had she missed that?

Now she understood. He looked like a man standing on
the edge of a cliff plucking up the courage to jump, everything
about him tightly focused, determined, hard. A slight trembling on
every exhale, and the compulsive flexing and contracting of his
trapped fist were the only signs of any underlying anxiety.

When he slowly turned his head a shiver chased over
her skin. He stared directly at her and for a split second a spark
ignited in his eyes. Deeply penetrating, his gaze swept the length
of her, appraising, challenging. Making her want to jump and run to
another seat, fate be damned.

The shiver turned into a knot of panic.

He knows I've seen it
.

He continued to stare, almost daring her to look
away. She couldn't. He needed her to see. Whatever pain he was in,
for some reason he was sharing it with
her
.

What did he want? Comfort, understanding?
Condemnation? What the hell had he done to end up handcuffed to a
seat on a plane? As they gazed at each other her mind conjured a
picture of a bird, beating its wings against the bars of a cage.
Her brother had trapped one once and presented it to her. Then he'd
laughed at her because all she'd wanted to do was set it free.

A ghost of a smile flickered across the man's
features, almost as if he were reading the image in her mind. With
a shake of his head, he turned away, retreating back into his
shell. Danielle felt him go. The brief moment of connection severed
so abruptly she had to catch herself. She almost reached out to
stop him, the pull was so strong. Then the flight attendant
appeared, pushing a small cart, and stood between them, blocking
her view. Danielle accepted the drink, helped herself to a packet
of cookies. Wondered what colour the mystery-man's eyes were.
Realised they were blue.

When the attendant moved on, Danielle picked up the
in-flight magazine, needing a barrier between them. She didn't want
him looking at her again. Not like that. She returned to mentally
helping the pilot to fly the plane, concentrating on engine noises,
searching the attendant's face for signs of concern. A quick glance
at her watch told her they were still only ten minutes into the
flight, so she kicked off her shoes and stared grimly at the
page.

Anything, but look at him again. Whatever he'd done,
he'd pay. He didn't need her pity. That puppy-dog-at-the-pound
expression probably had women falling at his feet.
Well, not
this woman
. Fear of flying was the only thing that marred
Danielle Radley's perfect life, and when she got back to the States
that problem would be sorted once and for all. Then her life would
be
perfect. And God-help-her, it was going to stay that
way.

* * * *

Taylor Bradford stared at the seat in front of him,
trying not to think about the tattered remnants of his life. A
painful cramp tightened his arm. Without moving too much, he tried
to twist into a more comfortable position, taking in a deep,
calming breath as he fought against the hysteria momentarily
threatening to overwhelm him. Y
ou wanted this
, he thought
grimly and closed his eyes because the woman with the bouncy
pony-tail and the neat little business suit was still giving him
that wide-eyed look she'd adopted on spotting the handcuffs.

He couldn't hide them so he let his mind go blank and
endured her look, of what?
Pity? Concern
?
Whatever it
is, I don't want it
.
Why can't she be scared of me? I could
cope with that.

Inspiring fear was his gift and what had made him so
good. It was what made him a survivor and what had brought him to
this. But every look that told him what a sad, pathetic creature
he'd become, ripped out another little part of him. Put up another
bar to his cage. A bad place to be.

Even with his eyes closed, he could still feel her
gazing at him. What was it with women and tragic figures? He could
be a mass murderer for all she knew, and yet here she was, giving
him that
I could be the one to reform you
look. What the
hell would she do if he gave her a real eyeful, let her see exactly
what he'd become. An empty shell. Nothing.

The policeman sitting next to him prodded him with
his elbow, something he'd been doing periodically to show who was
boss. Taylor shifted in his seat, raised his eyebrows and lifted
his handcuffed wrist a few inches to show he wasn't going anywhere.
The man flashed him a toothy grin and leaned across to take a drink
from the attendant.

Stupid man
. Jacket gaping open, gun on display
for God's sake
.
Surely they'd been properly briefed? Didn't
they realise he already had it planned? Two seconds, that's all it
would take. Grab the gun, point it at the nuns. Get the pilot to
fly him somewhere safe. Easy, but then what?

It would start all over again. That's what.

Pair of incompetents, the both of them; should have
had him in the window seat at the very least. Hell, they shouldn't
have let other passengers on the flight
.
But then they all
knew how this would end. They were all willing participants in this
carefully plotted charade.