Chapter 3

3

PHOEBE

T he world came back to Phoebe in pieces: the muted crackle of a fire, the faint sunlight filtering the trees, the scent of pine and smoke, and the uncomfortable tug of something tight on her arm. The pain hit next—sharp, unrelenting, and radiating from her ribs and left arm. She tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed against her good shoulder, stopping her.

“Stay still,” the man said, his voice low and commanding. “You’ll just make it worse.”

Phoebe’s gaze darted to him. He was beside her, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light. The rugged planes of his face were set in concentration as he finished wrapping a bandage around her forearm, his hands deft and sure.

“Who are you?”

“Jonah Locke.”

“You know your way around a first-aid kit,” she murmured, her voice rasping.

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. And crashing 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,” she admitted finally. “It has classified data. I can’t allow them to get their hands on it.”

“So, you’re with the Air Force?”

“Not anymore. I’m a partner with my best friend, Amelia, in a charter and cargo flight company, Midnight Sun Flight Services. We fly people from the lower forty-eight up to Alaska, where she lives with a man she fell in love with. When my former Air Force CO asked for my help, I didn’t feel like I could refuse.”

Jonah’s gaze didn’t waver. “And almost got you killed. So, the flight computer is what you were hiding.”

Her lips tightened. “That’s none of your business.”

“Wrong.” He stood, towering over her, his presence as commanding as his voice. “It became my business the second I found you bleeding and half-dead in the middle of nowhere.” Phoebe’s temper flared, but before she could respond, he squatted down again, his eyes level with hers. “If we’re going to get out of this alive, I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

She hesitated, the sheer force of his presence unsettling her. The sunlight seemed to reflect in his eyes, and she found herself unable to look away. There was something in his gaze—an intensity, a rawness—that both unnerved and drew her in.

Finally, she exhaled. “The Ghosthawk project is supposed to be one of the most secure operations in the military.”

“And yet you’re telling me…”

Phoebe took a deep breath, trying to rein in her temper. “I don’t have much choice, do I? I’m a pilot, not a survivalist. I’m injured. I’m going to need your help to report back and get the flight computer to the Air Force. Whoever sabotaged the plane had to have inside access. That means whoever’s coming isn’t some random hit squad.”

Jonah’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him seemed to become more intense. “They’ll track the wreckage first,” he said, standing and packing away the medical supplies. “We need to move. Thankfully, it snowed overnight—that’ll help hide our tracks.”

Phoebe nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. She tried to push herself upright again, and this time Jonah offered her his hand. She hesitated, her pride warring with practicality, but eventually she took it. His grip was firm, warm, and far too steadying for her liking.

As they began moving, Phoebe’s mind churned with questions. Jonah’s composure was unsettling. No ordinary person would react to her story with such calm acceptance. And the way he moved through the forest—silent, deliberate, and completely in control—hinted at a history she couldn’t yet piece together.

“You’re awfully well-prepared for a wilderness guide,” she said, her voice low but probing.

Jonah glanced back at her, his lips twitching into a faint grin. “I don’t recall telling you I was a wilderness guide, and you’re awfully curious for someone who isn’t telling the whole truth.”

Phoebe bristled. “I’ve told you enough.”

“Not if it’s going to get us killed,” he shot back, his tone strident but measured.

She glared at him but said nothing, feeling both irritation and something she refused to name in equal measure. Jonah Locke was infuriating, mysterious, and far too competent for her peace of mind. Yet despite all that, she felt safer with him than she had any right to.

It was a problem. One she’d deal with later—assuming they survived.

The forest closed in around them, dense and silent save for the scrambling she did on the uneven ground. He moved like a predator—quiet and with purpose. Phoebe shivered, though whether from the cold or Jonah’s presence beside her, she couldn’t say.

“Stay close,” Jonah said over his shoulder, his tone more command than suggestion.

“I’m not planning to wander off,” Phoebe replied, scowling as her ribs protested each step. “Believe me, I’ve had enough near-death experiences to last me a while.”

Jonah’s silence was loaded with a skepticism that made her chest feel restricted. He didn’t trust her, and she couldn’t entirely blame him. After all, she didn’t trust him completely either. She was a stranger who had crash-landed in what he seemed to think of as his territory with more questions than answers—and the answers she did have were deadly. She didn’t have a choice, not now. He was her best chance of staying alive.

“Let me guess,” Jonah said after a long stretch of silence. “You’re trying to figure out who’s responsible for downing your plane.”

Phoebe blinked, startled by his accuracy. “Something like that.”

“Well, you’re not subtle,” he added, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “You’ve got that look. Distracted. Calculating.”

Phoebe quickened her pace to match his long strides, annoyance bubbling to the surface. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Jonah stopped abruptly, turning to face her. The sheer force of his presence, his broad frame blocking her path, sent a ripple of apprehension through her. “I know you’ve got something worth killing for,” he said evenly. “And I know you’re not telling me everything.”

Phoebe could feel her body tighten, heat rising to her cheeks. “Right, because you’ve been such an open book.”

His jaw tightened, and she thought she’d struck a nerve. “This isn’t about me,” he said, his voice low and steady.

She bristled. The orders she’d been given told her to shut him out, but those same orders had almost gotten her killed. On the other hand, she realized he was right. He was in effect risking his life for hers. If they were going to get out of this alive, she needed his help—and that meant giving him more than half-truths.

“I was flying a test mission,” she admitted, her tone clipped. “Classified project. The Ghosthawk. Someone sabotaged it, and now they’re after me because they think I have the flight computer.”

“Where?” he grumbled, turning and continuing up the rocky incline. “Those things don’t exactly fit in your pocket.”

“This one does. It’s part of the upgraded technology.”

“You’ve got a target on your back the size of Alaska.”

Phoebe scowled, hurrying to catch up despite the ache in her ribs. “I didn’t ask for your help, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, his tone dry. “You wouldn’t have lasted an hour out here on your own.”

The infuriating part was she knew he was probably right. She hated feeling dependent on anyone, let alone someone as overbearing as Jonah. But she also couldn’t deny the way his confidence made her feel safer, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

“Fine,” she said tightly. “We work together until we get out of this mess. But don’t think for a second that I’m telling you everything.”

Jonah stopped again, his eyes boring into hers. “I don’t need everything,” he said quietly. “Just enough to keep us alive.”

The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, and she almost forgot the danger they were in. He was too close, the sunlight and pine trees casting shadows across his angular features, highlighting the chiseled lines of his jaw and the faint stubble that added to his rugged appeal.

Phoebe tore her gaze away, swallowing hard. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. “We should keep moving,” she said, her voice more brittle than she intended.

Jonah nodded, his expression softening just enough to let her breathe again. “This way,” he said, leading her deeper into the forest.

As they walked, Phoebe’s mind churned with questions. Who had sabotaged her mission? The list of people with access to the Ghosthawk project was short, but each possibility was more dangerous than the last. And why now? What did they stand to gain from taking her down?

“You’re thinking too hard,” Jonah said, his voice cutting through her thoughts.

She glared at his back. “And what would you suggest?”

“Focus on what’s in front of you,” he replied. “The answers will come later.”

Phoebe’s frustration boiled over. “Is that what you do? Just focus on the immediate danger and ignore everything else?”

Jonah stopped abruptly, turning to face her. “I don’t have the luxury of ignoring anything,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “But out here, thinking too much will get you killed.”

Phoebe opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself. His words, as maddening as they were, made sense. And there was something in his tone, a rawness that hinted at a past she didn’t yet understand.

“You’re hiding something, too,” she said, crossing her arms.

Jonah’s expression didn’t change, but she saw the flicker of something—guilt, maybe, or pain—in his eyes. “That’s not your concern.”

Phoebe stepped closer, emboldened by his silence. “It is if I’m putting my life in your hands.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if weighing how much to reveal. Finally, he said, “I’ve got my own reasons for being out here, and you’re safe with me. Leave it at that.”

His secrets were a wall between them, and she wasn’t sure if she should try to climb it or keep her distance. But as they pressed on, one thing was clear: Jonah Locke was as much a mystery as the danger hunting her. And she wasn’t sure which one scared her more.