Page 5 of Polestar
The scowling giant pilot squeezed through the cockpit door.“Slight delay in plans.We’ll stop here to ride out the storm.”
“We’re not at our destination?Where are we?”Ana shoved the window blind back up again, now that it was safe to look outside.There was nothing but rain-lashed barren rockscape pockmarked with small bodies of water between a few stubborn trees.
We’re nowhere.
“Fogo Island.”His expression remained unchanged.
She wracked her geographical memory, trying to recall where Fogo was as she stared at the pilot.
“Newfoundland,” he provided, then turned toward the exterior door to release the steps.“We departed a little bit late, and the storm arrived a little bit early, so here we are.”
Ana recalled Carson’s warning on the phone‘The pilot will wait, but don’t keep him waiting too long.He gets grumpy.’
She’d only been an hour late.It had taken her that long to find all her ‘winter’ gear and choose the right shoes for the office.Carson had neglected to tell her if she needed field or boardroom wear for the duration of the case.She had to be ready for anything.And she was currently dressed for the office.Not a frigid rainstorm off the coast of apocalypse-scape.
“Where are we going?”She pulled the edges of her thin jacket close as a gust of wind wound through the cabin once the door was open.
“Out.”He descended the steps.
Ana found a large hand extended through the open door to help her down the steps.
The pilot’s bear-like grasp was warm as it engulfed her hand.She gasped.Her fingers felt as though she’d inserted them into a warm energy current.Images flashed through her mind’s eye, too rapid to grasp before she could throw her barriers up to block the transfer of energetic information.
She descended quickly, sliding past his trim torso to the tarmac, trying to shake the sudden onslaught of images and sensations.
Ana grit her teeth trying to control the influx of information.
I’m never going to get used to that.
He gestured toward a squat building, indicating she should enter.Trotting forward, she glanced back to see that he was securing the plane, impervious to the rain soaking his clothes.
The door was locked, so she waited under the narrow overhang, holding her jacket closed, shivering as rainwater dribbled down her bare legs to pool in the toes of her office pumps.
She’d expected to be chauffeured to an office like Maeda’s—or her own, for that matter.
Ah.Field work.
She sighed.She would soon find out if this was worse than Odson Blackridge’s mountain cabin.She prayed that this facility at least had running water and an indoor toilet.Cell service would be nice.
Though, as she peered through the driving rain and saw absolutely nothing, she had her doubts.
Finally, the pilot strode in her direction, unhurried by the downpour.She blinked at the alluring vision of the tall man, t-shirt plastered to a mountain range of muscle and valley.Withdrawing a key ring from his jeans pocket, he unlocked the door and gestured for her to precede him.
Shivering, she darted inside the black interior.
A few seconds later, lights flickered on.“No customs agent on duty?”she asked through chattering teeth.
“Private runway.They know our tags and leave us alone.”He strode across the open space of the small hangar toward an office door set in the wall between a work bench and a large tool chest.“I’ll radio in to let them know we’re grounded for the time being.”
Radio.
No cell service.
Damn.
Ana followed him through the door.
“Oh, thank God!”she blurted on seeing a bathroom door, and rushed toward it.After the stress of that unexpected landing and the icy rain, Ana had a sudden emergency of her own.
