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Two Alone pdf

Sandra Brown: Two Alone

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Faint, but definitely there. He had looked at her with such apparent disfavor that she had returned her gaze to the window and kept it there. She got blood on her hands. Tension inside the aircraft increased when the two-man crew lost radio contact with the ground. While the passengers and their luggage were being weighed before boarding, the Loner had stood apart from the group, his attitude superior and hostile. However, under the circumstances, she wasn't sure that being spared was a favorable alternative. His eyelids were still. Their families would feel the tragedy with double intensity. She had felt distinctly uncomfortable, being the only woman on board. Intuition told her that the sooner he regained consciousness the better. What Rusty and Cooper weren’t prepared for was the discovery that they desired more than just survival…. She wondered why she was still alive. . Miles of virgin wilderness lay between it and Yellowknife, their destination. One could only reach the lodge on the northwestern tip of Great Bear Lake by airplane. She shook her head slightly and the chips rained off her, making tinkling, pinging little noises in the quiet. Two Alone . That fact registered with her, but she didn't look too closely. Endlessly, it seemed, torn metal had shifted before settling with a groan. She desperately needed to know that she wasn't alone. Ev-erything was frightfully still. Excerpt. Vietnam vet Cooper Landry had a deep-rooted grudge against beautiful women like Rusty. But one thing was certain – she would surely die without his help. She and her husband live in Arlington, Texas. She didn't know why she had been spared instantaneous death, unless her smaller size had allowed her to wedge herself between the two seats more securely and better cushion the impact. Eventually they fell silent and kept their eyes trained on the men in the cockpit. She didn't know how long it had been since the impact or how long she'd remained bent over with her head in her lap. Looking toward the front of the cabin, she could see that the cockpit had been severed from the fuselage like a bottle cap that had been twisted off. Experience had taught him they were takers. She is the recipient of the 2008 Thriller Master Award from International Thriller Writers, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. All rights reserved. She felt every ounce of it as she opened his seat belt and his dead weight slumped against her like a sack of concrete mix. God be with us," they all took the news resignedly and with an amazing calm. The bloody arm hanging over the armrest snagged them. Time could stand still. Lifting her hands to his cheeks, she slapped them lightly. She caught most of it with her right shoulder and supported him there while she backed down the aisle toward the opening, half lifting him, half dragging him with her. Besides the pilots, she was probably the first one to notice the storm. It wasn't going to be easy; he probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds or more. She was the only woman on board. Besides, she needed the reassurance that he wasn't dead or going to die—at least not immediately. They'd been killed by the jagged tree trunk that had cut into the cabin like a can opener. Their braggadocio was replaced with uneasy quips about riding this one out and being glad the pilot was "driving" instead of one of them. That thought galvanized her into action. The Loner. Editorial Reviews About the Author Sandra Brown is the author of numerous New York Times bestsellers - including most recently Smash Cut, Smoke Screen, Play Dirty, Ricochet, Chill Factor, White Hot, Hello, Darkness, The Crush, and Envy. There it was again! She whipped her head around, listening. Even braced for it, she hadn't been adequately prepared. She looked at his chest, but he was wearing a quilted coat, so it was impossible to tell if he were breathing or not. The two men sitting in the seats directly in front of hers—good friends, judging by their loud and rambunctious banter-ing with each other—were now dead, their joking and laughter forever silenced. Soon the others began to notice the jouncy flight. . His unfriendliness hadn't invited conversation with any of the other passengers, who were all boisterously bragging about their kills. All except her. Just as some things were innately, exclusively female. Slowly she forced herself to open her eyes.

. Her hair and shoulders and back were littered with chips of shattered plastic—what had previously been the window next to her seat. "Thank God, thank God. The pilot and copilot, both jovial and joking young men, were ob-viously, bloodily, dead. It had come to rest several feet away. When the copilot assisted her aboard, the rowdy dialogues had ceased abruptly. The authorities could search for months without finding her. Reasoning that the cold air might help revive him, she resolved to get him outside the plane. There was virtually no wind. They had probably been killed on impact. They were better off. They were all dead. The dismembered trees—innocent victims of the crash—had ceased to quiver. Unlike the rest of the passengers, she had left someone behind at the lodge on Great Bear Lake. Was it just her wishful imagination or did the Loner's eyelids flicker? She scrambled back up the aisle, brushing past the dangling, bleeding arm of one of the crash victims. An airplane leaving a hunting and fishing lodge in the North-west Territories was one of those masculine things. The plane's instruments could no longer be depended upon because the readings they were giving out were apparently inaccurate. That soon became apparent to all of them. Her vocal cords froze. © Reprinted by permission. Sandra Brown . She'd heard it. It was sticky. " He moaned, but he didn't open his eyes. Because of the impenetrable cloud cover, they hadn't seen the ground since takeoff. She would never forget the shock of that first jarring impact. Frequently they belched deep rolls of thunder. He still seemed to be in peaceful repose. The carnage was worse than an air-traffic controller's nightmare. "Wake up, mister. "Oh, please, God, let him be alive," she prayed fervently. She supposed she should be grateful for that. The deaths of her fellow passengers had been swift and painless. It wasn't easy to hear anything over the pounding of her own heart. Please wake up. She whimpered with horror, but clamped her trembling lower lip between her teeth and con-tinued tugging the man down the aisle—one struggling, ago-nizing inch at a time. Hardly a leaf was stirring now. " She began laughing and crying at the same time. She uttered a wordless exclamation when she felt the humid passage of air. Reaching his seat, she stared down into his face. But there were predators in the dense woods – both animals and human – and the odds were against them. The sky looked cold and wet and threatening. It snapped apart and she fell forward, bumping her head on the seat in front of her. So she must be alive. The other two passengers, middle-aged brothers, were still strapped into their seats in the front row. She had mentally tagged him with that name before takeoff. No flicker. Hopelessness and fear overwhelmed her. Now, the only survivor. One's head had gone through the window. She raised her head. Accompanied by dense fog, the torrential rain had made her nervous. She had studiously avoided touching it only moments ago. They could handle that. She laid her index finger along the top curve of his mustache, just beneath his nostrils. She was afraid she would faint. She was sure of that.

Beautiful and self-confident businesswoman Rusty Carlson was hurt, terrified and alone with a man she feared. When the plane went into a spiraling nosedive and the pilot shouted back to his passengers, "We're going in. But the pilots were having a difficult time. The rain had stopped, but the low, heavy, dark gray clouds looked so laden with menace they seemed ready to burst. It struck her suddenly that whatever his injury, she might be doing it more harm than good . Until they did—if ever—she was utterly alone and dependent solely on herself for survival. His aloofness had seg-regated him—just as her sex had isolated her. The wind could get very cold. A stir. The only explanation was that she was sitting in the last row. God only knew how far off the flight plan the plane had been when it went down. She was afraid she would die. It was like walking into a smoke-filled room where a heated poker game was in progress. She began to cry. And she was afraid she wouldn't. Because the plane was small, there were strict regulations about weight. She was too terrified to scream. She had bent double and pressed her head between her knees, covering it with her arms, praying all the way down. That seven-foot journey took her over half an hour. There was a sea of blood. No moaning sound coming from his lips, which were all but obscured by a thick, wide mustache. She had tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, saying nothing, settling in her seat and staring out the window. Her death would be long in coming because as far as she could tell, she was miraculously uninjured. There was no sound. All the seats had been taken except that one in the last row. Avoiding any direct contact with the bodies, she looked up through the ripped metal seam. Some things were innately, exclusively male, and no amount of sexual equality was ever going to change that. She eased herself into the narrow aisle and, on hands and knees, crawled toward the gaping tear in the airplane. A scream rose in her throat, but she couldn't utter it. Across the aisle, another man lay dead, his head thrown back against the cushion as though he'd been sleeping when the plane went down. She would die slowly of thirst, starvation, exposure. But he’d survived far worse dangers, and this time he’d be damned if he’d let her risk his chance for survival. The robust, bearded copilot had helped her on board, flirting, saying he rarely had women passengers on his airplane and when he did, they didn't look like fashion models. She swallowed the bile that filled the back of her throat. It could have been seconds, minutes, light-years. Once, just after takeoff, she had turned her head and inadvertently made eye contact with the man sitting across the aisle. Absurdly she thought of the question about a tree falling in the woods. She clutched the collar of her red fox coat high about her neck. She slammed her eyes shut and didn't open them until after she'd averted her head. Would it make a sound? It did. Bent at an angle because of the low ceiling, she had moved to the only available seat. Her goodbye had been drawn out, so she was the last one to board the aircraft. She had to overcome her repulsion and touch it, moving it aside. It seemed to take an eternity. She looked toward the man who was sitting in the seat across the aisle from hers. But wait! If there was no wind, where was that keening sound coming from? Holding her breath, she waited. With near-hysteri-cal frenzy she struggled to release her seat belt.


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  • Audio CD
  • ISBN-10: 1469249278
  • Language: English

File size: 4,2 MB

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