In the Barren Ground Read Online Free PDF Page A

a one-off. He can send you the bill.”
    Crash exited his door dressed in an antique leather bomber jacket lined with shearling. He wore an old leather flight cap and metal-rimmed goggles perched across his brow. He brushed past her. Not a word. She turned in his wake and saw that the back of his jacket sported a faded cartoonlike image of a big-breasted, naked woman with wings. He was dressed like a freaking World War II pilot? She watched as he made for the airstrip and unlocked the gates that opened into the fenced-off runway area. He paused.
    “Coming, Constable? You can park next to the hangar.”
    Tana muttered another curse under her breath and crunched toward her truck. She drove around to the hangar while he ran through his exterior flight check and opened the cargo door. He folded the back passenger seat forward, hopped in, and helped load her gear up into the barrel chest of the de Havilland Beaver. It was mustard yellow with a fat burgundy stripe down the side. Cartoon teeth had been painted around the prop. It looked heavy. It looked capable of eating a smaller Cessna or Super Cub for snacks.
    “You sure the WestMin strip is long enough to land this thing?” she said.
    “You want to take all this gear, you’re going to need this plane,” he said as he took the bag containing the electric fencing from her and stuffed it into the back. He held out his hand for her backpack, to which she’d strapped her shotgun and rifle. “Might not have quite the short-takeoff or landing performance of a smaller bird, but it handles comparably to a Super Cub or Helio.” He met her gaze. “You can of course use Jankoski, if you prefer.”
    She hefted her pack up toward him in silence. He stashed it, and said, “Go around to the passenger side and jump in. Headgear is on the seat.” He closed the cargo door in her face.
    Tana inhaled deeply and went around the plane. She climbed in, seated herself in the copilot seat, and put on the earphones she found there. The cockpit was tiny, spartan, and cold. When he took the pilot’s chair his arm butted up against hers.
    He began to work the wobble pump manually in order to pressurize the fuel lines. It clunked like a primitive crank. Then he pressed the start button. The engine whined and coughed like a car engine struggling against a flat battery to turn over before it caught. He gave it throttle and the whole plane shuddered and rattled to life. Tana wondered if Jankoski, even in his state, might have been a better bet with his Cessna.
    O’Halloran taxied out into position at the end of the runway.
    “So, where’s the old flying outfit from?” she asked with a nod toward his jacket, trying to distract herself as the engine built rpms and the Beaver shook at the seams to be let go.
    “My grandfather’s. He was shot down over Holland.”
    “How’d you get his gear, then?”
    “They gave it to my dad, after my grandfather’s body and wreck were found by some Dutch school kids. My dad also became a pilot. Taught me to fly when I was fourteen.”
    “That’s her age, you know?” she said.
    “Who?”
    “Mindy. She’s only fourteen. Did you know that?”
    He glanced at her, something dark and fleeting in his face caught by the cockpit lights. A slow grin curved his mouth, setting those dimples back into his weather-beaten cheeks. “Is that what you think?”
    She said nothing.
    “Mindy and I are just friends.” He drew his goggles down over his eyes and suddenly looked every bit the Black Devil, or the Blond Knight. Or whatever a battle-worn, World War II flying ace was supposed to be named. All he needed was a silk scarf. “Besides, you don’t look a whole lot older than her yourself, Constable.”
    “If I catch you,” she said quietly into her mouthpiece, “I swear, I’ll put you away. Statutory rape.”
    He shot her another glance. Heat seemed to crackle off his body. It was tangible. A warning. “Is that right?” he said.
    “That’s exactly right,”