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She pursed her lips, and her eyes turned stormy with worry. The plane’s engine gunned to life, and the propellers spun wildly outside their windows. Eli told them to buckle up, and the pilot’s jovial voice eased a little of the tension in Dallas’s chest.

Gemma shook her head. “I haven’t checked the phone since we left though. It’s in my bag.”

A person probably didn’t quit their job as a CIA informant via text, but something had to be done. Once they left Colombia it’d look highly suspicious if Gemma took off without notice and didn’t wait for the transportation the CIA were to provide.

The plane surged forward, and Dallas’s stomach flip-flopped. He cleared his throat and tightened his seatbelt then looked out the window as they taxied quicker and quicker down the runway. He’d flown a million times in rickety planes over oceans and jungles, but something about this trip made him feel more . . . vulnerable.

Probably Gemma.

He didn’t need to worry about his own life. Once he was called to go, sayonara. But Gemma? He shoved that thought from his mind.

The plane lifted off the ground and the g-force pulled his stomach to his spine. He swung his gaze to Gemma.

“Look, you can see the ocean,” she said, gesturing to the hazy water far into the distance. She leaned forward, and he straightened in his seat to give her room.

“Um—” Her voice rose an octave. “Are those people supposed to be there?”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and moved next to her. She pointed out the window, her finger shaking.

Two large military Hummers raced below them. Men stood in the back with machine guns pointed at the plane.

He grabbed Gemma’s head and shoved it to her legs. “Stay down!” He dove for the front of the plane. “Eli! We’re being shot at!”

Rap! Rap! Rap!

Bullets sliced through the sky.

CHAPTER 7

The tinging of metal against metal ricocheted inside Gemma’s eardrums, and the metallic zing of terror corroded her tongue. She pressed her face harder to her knees, her arms covering her head. They hadn’t started to fall—yet. But they’d been shot good.

We’re going to crash.

The bullets stopped, and she waited a minute before lifting her head an inch. Dallas still stood near the cockpit, bracing himself on the cubby over his head. Shoving her arm behind her legs, she patted the carpeted ground. Her fingers brushed the canvas bag, and she slid it out.

Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been terrified of the darn thing. Now it was her lifeline. She unclipped her seatbelt, leaned forward, and fit her arms through the straps of the parachute then snapped the buckle in front of her chest.

She scurried to Dallas’s seat, retrieved his parachute, then marched toward him. She thrust the parachute into his side, and he spun around and grabbed it. His eyes were wide with alarm—something she’d never witnessed on his face before. The fine lines around his eyes had deepened, as if the last few minutes had aged him.

“We’ve been hit.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She spoke loud over the drone of the airplane.

“Eli says we’re stable for now, but the fuel level is dropping quickly. Probably a hole in the gas tank.”

Her stomach bottomed out. “Oh my god.” She swayed, and he caught her arm. “Can he land the plane somewhere?”

Dallas’s eyes darkened. He gestured out the window. “It’s all jungle. If we try to return to the airfield, we’ll just give them a chance to hit us again.”

She gripped the seat back next to her. One glance out the window showed miles of trees. She wet her lips. Her brain worked at warp speed to iron out a plan, but their options were slim. “What about a road?”

He leaned forward and shouted at Eli.

Eli looked over his shoulder and flicked his fingers in acknowledgment. “I’m hoping to find a road that’s long enough. Problem is the jungle roads are winding and rough. We’ve got some time, but we won’t make it to Ibarra.” The finality of that statement sucked all the hope from her.

“How long do we—”

Beep, beep, beep

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