He jerked the gun back and dropped it in his lap. "You stupid little fool." He did not intend to shoot her. Kissing her fit his urges more.

"No more than you if you don't land this plane," she challenged.

She moved forward at the same time he reached to push her away. The back of his hand collided with her face, and her cry of pain sent a shiver through him. It was as if he felt her pain physically.

"Damn it, Ramon, get back there and...and see if she's...just get back there and tie her up so she doesn't get us killed." Or herself hurt. Dez rubbed a hand over his head in frustration. Never in his life had he hit a woman. The idea of telling her that fact wouldn't help their situation, so he remained silent.

"You shouldn't make him mad, chica," Ramon's apologetic tone didn't lessen Dez's guilt. "When he gets upset, he flings his arms about like a crazy person."

"Maybe because he is crazy," she grumbled.

Dez glanced back at her. Under the mechanic outfit, the baseball cap and a layer of grease, she was pretty.

"You have to land," she demanded again.

"Shut her up, Ramon. I can't think with all her squalling about this damn plane."

Her shriek hit a high pitch that made his pulse throb. Very little disturbed him enough to prickle the hairs on the back of his head, and he concentrated on remaining calm. The momentary shrill sound stopped and his nerves settled.

"No...o...o!" she squealed, and then her sounds were muffled.

Dez grinned with satisfaction. He preferred women willing and quiet. The spitfire in the plane got on his nerves too damn much and the first chance he got, he'd get rid of her.

"You shouldn't have hit the lady." Ramon climbed in the front seat.

"I didn't hit her intentionally."

"She has a split lip. It will bruise."

"I didn't mean to hit her, Ramon," he hissed low. "You know I wouldn't hurt a woman."

"Maybe if we e'splain."

"Don't go telling her any of our business. We'll get into Mexico and then she can fly right on back up to Texas without knowing anything about us."

"But the chica will be uncomfortable." Ramon turned to look back at the girl.

"Forget about the senorita, she'll be fine. Take a look at my side. See if it's as bad as it feels." He lifted his arm and Ramon tugged the shirt up.

Dez flinched when Ramon poked at his side. The raw, bloody skin flapped open and blood oozed, trickling into the waistband of his blue jeans. Ramon pressed a wadded-up cloth to the wound. It hurt worse to have him touching it than it did to leave it alone.

"Okay, that's enough already," Dez yelped. "It's not bleeding all that bad."

"You need a doctor."

"I need a drink. Preferably something strong and lethal to my senses." He sighed. "I don't know what I thought I'd accomplish by breaking into that place in the light of day. The next time I suggest a foolish stunt like that, you have permission to shoot me."

Ramon said nothing and Dez returned his thoughts to their destination near Mexico City. Only the woman they unintentionally kidnapped continued to creep into his head. Her lovely eyes, the angelic voice, it made him wonder what her body looked like beneath the grease-smeared, baggy overalls.