Page 5 of His Lost Mate

He didn’t glance up. “You don’t live out here without learning a few things.”

“Don’t you want to know my name?”

“Your name is P. Lawrence.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, looking around.

He nodded towards the badge in the upper left of her flight suit. “What’s the P stand for?”

“Phoebe.”

“Well, Phoebe Lawrence, nice to make your acquaintance.”

Phoebe frowned, her suspicions kicking into overdrive. Who and what was he? He wasn’t just some guy living off the grid or even a wilderness guide. The skill with which he’d cleaned and stitched her wound spoke of training, not hobbyist survivalism. But before she could ask, the searing pain in her arm yanked her focus back.

“Done,” Jonah said, tying off the bandage. He straightened, towering over her. “How’s the head?”

She lifted a hand gingerly, her fingers brushing the tender spot above her temple. “Feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it.”

Jonah’s expression darkened. “Concussion, probably. You’re lucky that’s the worst of it after what happened.”

“Lucky,” Phoebe repeated with a humorless laugh. “Crashing a plane and getting hunted by god-knows-who isn’t exactly my idea of good fortune.”

Jonah leaned back, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

His words hung in the air, simple but irrefutable. Phoebe exhaled slowly, the memory of the crash flooding back. The Ghosthawk—the experimental aircraft she’d been entrusted to pilot—was in pieces, and she had narrowly escaped death.

She glanced down at her jacket, her fingers brushing the small, hidden pocket where she’d secured the flight computer and the emergency beacon. It was still there. Relief swept through her, but it was short-lived. If the people who sabotaged her knew she had it, they wouldn’t stop hunting her. Andcrashing in the middle of nowhere likely meant they already suspected.

Jonah’s voice cut into her thoughts. “What’s in your jacket?”

Phoebe froze, her hand retreating. “Nothing.”

His brows lifted slightly, skepticism clear on his face. “Nothing doesn’t make you look that guilty.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she snapped, the tension in her chest flaring into frustration. She tried to push herself upright, wincing as pain shot through her ribs. Jonah moved in an instant, his hand gripping her shoulder to steady her.

“Stop moving,” he said, his voice firm. “You’re going to hurt yourself more.”

“I’m fine,” Phoebe bit out, shrugging him off. “We can’t stay here. They’ll be coming.”

Jonah didn’t move, his gaze pinning her in place. “Who?”

She hesitated, the question laced with unspoken danger. “I don’t know. Whoever you heard earlier—whoever is responsible for bringing my plane down.”

“So, it wasn’t just mechanical failure or pilot error.”

“Hardly.”

“Sabotage,” he said, his tone flat but knowing.

Phoebe nodded slowly, her heart racing. “You seemed to think they were looking for me. I think you’re right, and I also think they’ll most likely send someone to finish the job.”

His expression didn’t change, but she caught the way his jaw tightened, the slight flare of his nostrils. “And what’s so important that they’d kill you for it?”

Phoebe considered her options. Knowing the op had been classified and she didn’t know this man weighed against the undeniable fact that she couldn’t possibly get out of this alive by herself. There was no way she could find out who was responsible on her own. “I have the flight computer,” sheadmitted finally. “It has classified data. I can’t allow them to get their hands on it.”

“So, you’re with the Air Force?”

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