He was waiting for her.
Dragon slid under Phoenix as they left the canyon behind. Flying low, way too low, they clipped across the barren desert—right before the other pilot punched the throttle with such ferocity that she screamed when she mimicked his move. She left her old speed record way behind while they raced wildly. Chase’s body was all pressure and heat, but her mind danced, delighted.
Phoenix wasn’t trying to escape. She felt like he was playing, flirting, and she found herself teasing him right back. Before the spotted green edge of the Gulf of Mexico, he stole the lead, and she executed a double cross so close that Pippin whooped with joy or terror—or more likely both.
When the bingo fuel alarm went off, Chase overrode it and kept after Phoenix. He was heading northeast, the same direction he had escaped during their last flight.
“Nyx, no gas for this,” Pippin said.
“Yeah, but double or nothing says he knows where there’s a gas station close by.” She could feel Dragon’s limits. They were going much slower now but still too fast, still burning through their limited fuel. And yet she couldn’t disengage. Where was he going? What did he look like? And why did she so desperately need to see him?
The right engine went out.
Dragon’s wings shook as Phoenix crossed the Hudson Bay and set down on a hiccup of an island.
“Wait.” Pippin’s voice trembled. “This is bad, Nyx! Turn around! Turn around while you still have altitude!”
“I can’t.” Her voice was cool, but her mind was blazing. “I’m going to land behind him. He’s a friendly, remember?”
Pippin didn’t buy her forced calm. “This is bad, bad, bad. That’s not U.S. soil. Remember the Declaration of No Assistance?”
She did. Shit.
Too late.
The left engine flickered and died. She managed a fast coast of a landing, skidding sideways on popped tires while metal squealed against the pavement.
Boards out.
? ? ?
Dragon shook when it finally stopped, and Chase noticed the runway for the first time: military green.
“Pippin.” She prickled with nerves. “This apron is camouflaged. Did we just land on some secret Ri Xiong Di base?”
“We’re in Canada.”
“Canada?” She forced a laugh. “Oh man, you really freaked me out for a sec.”
“We shouldn’t be here.” No snark. No sarcasm.
“Yes, I know that, but we’ll be gone in five. What’re the odds that Ri Xiong Di is monitoring this tiny speck of an island at this exact second?”
“The odds are never in America’s favor, Nyx. That’s what this cold war has been all about.”
She switched the canopy latch and unstrapped her harness. Phoenix was so close, and about a mile away, a small hangar door opened and people poured out. Many people. “Let’s go make friends before that crowd sends us packing.”
“Chase! Listen to me!” Pippin yelled.
Chase jumped from Dragon, the deep fall sending a jolt through her knees. She hadn’t set down outside of the Arctic in so long that the mild lake breeze took her by surprise. “It’s too late,” she called up to her RIO. “We’re all in now.”
She popped her helmet off and messed the sweat through her fauxhawk into a more pleasing look. “Will it make a difference if we go say hi?”
“I don’t know,” he called out.
“Don’t you want to meet them?” She fought the edge of a smile as Pippin de-helmeted, swore, and scrambled down from Dragon.
“You’re crazy, Nyx.”
“Yeah, but I’m not cracking up.” They jogged to Phoenix together. “Come down!” she yelled at the two figures in the cockpit.
Phoenix’s canopy lifted, and the pilot and RIO leaped out. Chase stepped back, bumping into Pippin. Phoenix’s team was a lot bigger than they appeared in the air. Both of them were over six feet tall with swimmer’s shoulders.
“Think you owe me five bucks,” Pippin muttered. “Those aren’t boys. They’re men.”
The RIO took his helmet off first—and threw it. He was the sort of wide-broad guy that could pass for fifteen or twenty-five. Still, he was cute—if you didn’t mind the caveman-worthy brow ridge.
Before Chase could put a greeting together, the RIO charged. He hit Pippin like a linebacker, tossing him to the pavement. Chase threw herself on the guy’s back. She got her elbow around his neck and was about to choke him when the pilot lifted her off like she weighed nothing. He tossed her down and hauled his RIO away from Pippin.
“You’ve ruined everything!” the RIO shouted as his pilot dragged him to a safer distance. His voice cramped with a French accent.
“He didn’t fly us into this!” Chase yelled back. “I did!”
“I don’t hit girls.” The RIO pointed at Pippin. “That little one I can take.”
“How noble.” Chase pulled Pippin to his feet. His face was cranberry and he gasped unevenly. “You all right?”
He slapped his chest and gave her a thumbs-up.
Chase set her eyes on the pilot. His face was all but hidden behind his visor, and his red helmet was adorned with a white maple leaf above a stenciled call sign: ARROW. So the third Streaker was from the Royal Canadian Air Force? Weird. But even weirder, the pilot was grinning at her.
“You. Arrow.” She wanted this moment to be better, but she was running low on time. The crowd approaching from the hangar was much closer, and the way they hustled unnerved her. “Afraid to show yourself?”
Arrow ducked out of his helmet, rolling it under his arm in a slick move.
Whatever Chase had been imagining, he wasn’t it. He was young, with a heated blush that lit up his cheekbones and underscored playful blue eyes. His black hair was long—a sweaty mess, half contained in a ponytail at the back of his neck.
He was also laughing at her.