The look in his eyes said he was close to pulling the trigger. He’d do it. He’d strategically place bullets so they wouldn’t kill him quickly, but the pain would be excruciating. Sarah grabbed the papers and the pen.

“No, Sarah,” Gavin said, “don’t do it.”

“What does it matter at this point?” She scribbled her name on each page and shoved them back at him. “There! Now what?”

McClain shrugged out of the overcoat he wore, tucked the papers into his front pocket, and pulled the flap over them. “Now, the money will be transferred to my offshore account. Now, it’s time for me to disappear.”

He turned and pulled the trigger. The pilot’s blood and brain matter coated the windshield. Sarah gaped, but before she could make a sound, he turned the weapon back on Gavin. “Right now, the plane is on autopilot. Give me the parachute under your seat.”

Gavin complied. McClain pulled the emergency lever and the door of the plane flew off. Cold wind whipped around them. He then turned and fired the weapon at the instrument panel of the plane. Once, twice, three times. Sparks flared and the instruments went haywire.

Sarah ducked her head. “What are you doing?”

McClain tossed the parachute out the door. “Give me the other one,” he shouted. “From under her seat.”

Gavin met her gaze, then went to his knees to look under her seat. He turned. “It’s not there.”

Keeping his eyes on Gavin, McClain’s scowl deepened. “Back in your seat. If I look and it’s there, I’ll shoot her.”

“I’m telling you, it’s not there!”

The man bent, then straightened and moved to the other two seats opposite Sarah and Gavin. He grabbed the parachutes from underneath and tossed them out the door. Then removed the pilot’s and sent it after the others.

Once the parachutes were free-falling from the plane, McClain turned the weapon back on Gavin. Sarah screamed.

Gavin kicked out and caught the man in the knee. Sarah heard the crunch over the whistle of the wind. McClain fell to the floor of the plane, screaming a litany of curses while his weapon slid toward the open door. Gavin worked the belt holding him to the seat as the plane listed to the side, the right wing dipping toward the earth. The gun slid farther from McClain.

Sarah’s gaze went to the instrument panel. “Hurry, Gavin! The autopilot’s disengaged. We’re going down!”

Four more tugs and he was loose.

McClain had managed to get to his feet, favoring his injured right leg. When he saw Gavin was free, he dove for the gun, grabbed it, and rolled to aim at Gavin. The plane shifted again, throwing McClain off-balance. Still gripping the weapon, he slid out the door.

The plane tilted once more. Gavin scrambled to his knees, but like McClain, slid toward the opening.