The Easy Way

by May Archer

  “Jesus! Damon!” Cort cried, pushing himself up on his hands.

  Cam opened his eyes as Jack heaved him backwards, and Cort saw Cam try to shake his head, telling Damon to stay back. Damon either didn’t understand or purposely ignored him. He mounted the steps after them and drew up the door.

  Belatedly, Cort saw the blocks had already been removed and the plane had been prepped for flight - Jack had obviously been planning for this.

  Sebastian ran toward the plane, banging on the door before Cort had even pushed himself to his feet. “No! Cam! Open the goddamn door, Jack! Cam!”

  Still, he wasn’t prepared for the way the plane flared to life, the engines firing up while the plane was still in the hangar. He coughed as a storm of dirt and debris whirled around him, tiny shards of stone and sand from the floor pinging against his skin and eyes. He covered his eyes with his forearm.

  “He’s insane!” Sebastian yelled. “What the hell is he thinking, starting up inside like this?”

  “He’s thinking I would have climbed up the side of the damn plane if he’d waited thirty more seconds,” Cort said, coming to his feet to stand beside Sebastian. Damon quickly guided the plane out the open door of the hangar, barely pausing before picking up speed and taxiing over to the runway.

  “Now what?” Drew demanded of no one in particular, throwing his hands in the air. “We can’t call the authorities.”

  “The local authorities would know nothing anyway,” Sebastian said, running a hand through his hair. “We need American authorities involved. I’m asking Uncle Shaw to call in a favor.” He panicked for a second. “Unless Jack hurt Shaw, too. Let’s find Lucy, and…”

  “No! No, I’ve got this.” Cort licked his lips and pulled his phone from his pocket - not the burner phone Damon had given him, but his space aged, FBI phone, the one with the important phone numbers. “I have someone I can call instead.”

  “Hey,” he said into the phone a minute later. “It’s Cort. I need your help.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Cam sat in the leather chair of Emmett Shaw’s plane, staring down the barrel of Jack Peabody’s gun just as he had been for the last hour or longer. In that time, he’d invented a dozen potential ways of getting out of this situation, and dismissed them one after the other due to his lack of weapon, muscles, and ability to fly.

  The layout of this plane was the same as his family’s. The furnishings were more upscale, but far less comfortable. Cam surveyed the clouds passing by the window, surprised at how un-freaked he was about being in a plane. Then again, being held captive by a guy who’d likely shoot you as soon as the plane landed really put the risks of air travel into perspective.

  Jack sat in a chair opposite him, swiveled sideways, so he could keep one eye on Damon in the cockpit, while keeping track of Cam in the living area. Cam hadn’t heard from Damon since they’d first taken off. Jack had shoved him into a seat near Damon in the cockpit and then forced Damon to input coordinates and take off in some crazy-ass way that had made Damon flush red and mutter things about recklessness and suicide. Then Jack had yanked Cam up again, as soon as they’d reached cruising altitude, and brought him back here, no doubt the better to keep him away from Damon, who vibrated with crazy anger at approximately the same intensity as Jack.

  Cam needed to talk to Damon if they were ever going to find a way out of this alive, and Cam needed at least Damon to survive, for Cort’s sake. Bas and Drew would have each other, plus Bas had his work, and Drew had his mom. But Cort… Cam couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling now, having his brother ripped away from him again, after all that Cort had gone through, all he’d sacrificed. Cam rubbed his thumb over the pocket of his shorts, feeling the outline of Cort’s lucky quarter against his finger. A lump lodged in his throat.

  He needed to get Damon back to Cort.

  He watched the madman sitting across from him, gun in one hand and cell phone in the other. Jack was hunched forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, breathing erratically. He kept running the cell phone across his forehead in a nervous way, like he was waiting for it to ring with a call from wherever the hell they were headed. Would Jack deliver him and Damon to his real bosses, the people who’d paid Jack to kill Cam’s parents?

  “Jack,” Cam began, and Jack’s head flew up, eyes wild. Cam shrank back, making himself as non-threatening as possible. “I just… I was wondering. Who paid you?”

  “What?”

  “A year ago, the crash,” Cam whispered. “We already figured out someone must have paid you to kill my parents.”

  Jack’s head went back, a smile forming on his lips. “Why the hell would I tell you?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Cam swallowed. “I mean, you’re going to kill me anyway when we land, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe,” Jack shrugged, his eyes cagey. “I haven’t decided yet. Might be better to keep a hostage for a little while, and you’re a better bet than Fitzpatrick.”

  “Right, okay. Well, I’m assuming you will at some point,” Cam said sadly, letting real fear thread through his voice, real tears spring to his eyes. “I think I’d kind of like to know the truth before it happens. Wouldn’t you? Call it my last request.”

  Jack laughed, a single quick bark, then a longer stream of chuckles. “Aw. You’re scared aren’t you, Cam?”

  Cam nodded seriously. “Of course. You’re the guy with the fucking gun.”

  “Hmmm. Yes, I am,” Jack agreed. His smile turned smug. “Crazy thing about your parents. Had to set it up to look like an accident. I had to be above reproach.” He rolled his eyes. “Harder than you’d think.”

  Cam nodded and glanced away, and as he did, he saw something move from the corner of his eye, a sliver of reflected light from further down the hall, from the bathroom and bedroom area. He kept his gaze trained there, hoping Jack would think he was trying to compose himself, and he saw it again - a definite flash of light, reflected off the surface of a picture in the gangway.

  Was there someone else on this plane? Cam’s pulse kicked up and he sat straighter. Had Cort or one of the others somehow managed to sneak aboard? How could he twist this to his advantage?

  “Who engineered it?” Cam demanded, wanting Jack’s attention focused on him.

  Jack snickered and leaned back in his chair. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Can’t be any crazier than some of the thoughts I’ve entertained this week,” Cam argued. “Cort thought for a second Bas was involved.”

  “Bas? You mean your brother Sebastian?” Jack laughed out loud. “Oh, God! I wish I’d thought of that. Did you believe it?”

  “Not really,” Cam said, watching the light creep closer along the gangway. “But I wondered who else it could have been. Maybe one of his competitors?”

  Jack shook his head, enjoying the game. “Nope. Much, much closer.”

  Cam ground his teeth together at Jack’s taunting tone and looked to the side again. The light had gone, but now Cam could see a shadow. Someone was standing right in the bedroom doorway, listening to them. “What would you say if I told you it was one of your father’s most trusted friends?”

  “One of Dad’s friends?” Cam repeated. His attention was caught now, between the shadow in the bedroom and the story that Jack was telling. “Who?”

  “Guess.”

  Cam rubbed at the back of his neck impatiently. “I-I don’t know. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt my dad. Was it someone from the board? Mitch, maybe? Or maybe the guy below him in the department, David?”

  “Closer than that.” Jack’s voice was sober now, all his humor gone. “One of his best friends ever. Someone he trusted implicitly.”

  Jack’s eyes darted unconsciously to the cell phone in his hand, and Cam saw what he’d been missing all along.

  They were in Emmett Shaw’s plane, with Emmett Shaw’s assistant. “Uncle Shaw,” he breathed. “Not possible. He loved my dad.”

  Jack nodded. “He
did. Killed him to do it, but your dad had made his bed.” Jack shrugged.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean? What did Dad ever do to Uncle Shaw that could possibly have led to this?” Cam fought to keep his temper in check, but how dare this man talk so casually about ending his parents’ lives?

  “The usual.” Jack shrugged. “Screwed him over. Left him hanging in the wind. Your dad made it clear he couldn’t be trusted.”

  “You’re wrong,” Cam argued. “Dad was totally trustworthy.”

  Jack shook his head with mock regret, then smiled. “You still think your dad was a saint. It’s so cute. Probably better you die thinking that way, huh?”

  The shadow was still standing in the doorway, and Cam wondered for a second if it could be Uncle… no. Emmett Shaw was not his uncle, and it couldn’t be Emmett out there, or he doubted Jack would have spoken so frankly. If it was someone who could help Cam and Damon, he had to get them in the proper position and somehow neutralize Jack’s gun. Whether Cam made it off the plane or not, he needed to make certain Emmett Shaw would pay.

  He forced himself to shrug and look unconcerned. “Maybe we won’t die today anyway.”

  Jack smiled and turned the gun so it pointed directly at Cam. “I think it’s up to me though, isn’t it?”

  “Well, Damon’s flying the plane,” Cam said. “Who knows where we’ll end up?”

  “Nah,” Jack said, but his eyelid flickered. “He inputted the coordinates for a small airport outside of Miami, just as I told him to.”

  “He can’t change them in flight?” Cam asked innocently. He was pretty sure Damon could, and probably would. “You’d know better than me.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed as he realized the flaw in his plan. He glanced back at the cockpit and his breathing hitched. “You’re just trying to get me to leave you here while I go see to Damon,” he accused.

  Cam’s eyes widened. “Of course not. What could I do? I don’t have a weapon.”

  Just as he’d hoped, Jack looked more suspicious than ever. “Get up,” he commanded. “We can both go sit in the cockpit.”

  Cam stood slowly and pretended reluctance. “I could just stay here…”

  “Get your ass over here,” Jack said, rising to his feet and backing up, leaving plenty of room for Cam to precede him. Cam stepped forward, until he was blocking Jack’s view of the cockpit. He turned his head to glare at Jack and get a direct line of sight into the tiny bedroom in the rear of the plane. He caught the faintest glimpse of a man - average height, short dark hair - before Jack barked at him to get moving.

  Cam’s stomach plummeted. Was that Cain Shaw? Had he been involved in this plot the whole time? Was he working with his father and Jack? Suddenly, being trapped in a cockpit with Damon and this madman didn’t seem like any sort of a decent plan.

  “I was just messing with you,” Cam said nervously. “Damon wouldn’t play games like that, not with me on board.”

  “Too late for second guessing,” Jack sneered. “Move your ass.”

  Cam didn’t have to feign his reluctance as he walked the short distance into the cockpit.

  “Sit,” Jack said, gesturing towards the copilot’s seat. Cam glanced out the window, but there was nothing to see except unrelenting blue - clear blue sky over a darker blue ocean, no land anywhere in sight. He swallowed hard, felt his stomach lurch, but he didn’t have time for a panic attack right then. Death was a lot more certain than a plane crash.

  Damon glanced over as Cam sat down and stared at him, but unlike his brother, Damon couldn’t relay messages to Cam with just his eyes. Cam had no idea what Damon was trying to tell him.

  “I’m sorry,” Cam said instead. If it hadn’t been for Cam, Damon wouldn’t have been on the plane after all.

  Damon lifted his chin, an acknowledgment. But he said, “I didn’t do it for you, Seaver. I did it for Cort. He loves you.”

  “Shut up,” Jack said, motioning with his gun. He glanced at the instrumentation and must have somehow determined that they were still on the correct course, because his posture relaxed. “Not a word from either of you.”

  But Cam was done following orders. If he was going to die, there were things he needed to say first.

  “It’s not like that for him,” he explained to Damon. “Cort… we… I don’t know what we could have had, but he wasn’t there yet. It’s okay, though. I know he cared, and he knows how I felt.” He dug into his pocket and retrieved Cort’s quarter.

  “Hey! Keep your hands where I can see them,” Jack said, but he relaxed when Cam displayed the simple coin in his hand.

  Cam held it up, turning sideways in his seat to show it to Damon, and he saw that Jack’s attention was riveted on it, too. From the cabin beyond, he saw movement and prayed whoever was out there wasn’t working with Jack.

  “Cort let me borrow this,” he told Damon. “He told me you gave it to him a while back.”

  Damon looked at Cam like he was crazy. Maybe he was. From the corner of his eye, he watched the shadow outside the cockpit door creep closer. Whoever was out there was trying to conceal their presence. Cam knew he needed to distract Jack and give them the element of surprise.

  “I figured you’d want it back,” Cam told Damon, trying to convey with his eyes that Damon should play along. And then he flipped the quarter in a perfect arc.

  Jack’s attention was focused on the coin as it sailed through the air, heading for Damon’s outstretched palm, and he never noticed the arm reaching around to grab him from behind. Cam jumped from his seat, both of his hands reaching for the wrist of Jack’s gun hand and forcing it up to the ceiling, even as the fourth person yanked Jack backwards, trying to wrestle him to the floor. Cam lost his grip for a split second, falling forward as Jack was wrenched back, and in that second, Jack fired.

  Damon cried out as sparks shot from the control panel. The plane dipped precariously.

  Cam’s stomach rolled, but he levered himself up anyway, grabbing Jack’s wrist again, his knee digging hard into Jack’s thigh as they wrestled on the tiny floor. The other man – Cain! It was Cain! - was trapped underneath Jack, his arm still around Jack’s neck, but he was losing the struggle as Jack elbowed him relentlessly with his free arm.

  Cam made it up onto his knees, gaining leverage over Jack and pushing his wrist in the opposite direction, so Cain could have more room to maneuver himself free. Cam pinned Jack’s wrist to the floor, moved his knee onto Jack’s forearm, then grabbed the gun from his hand. The men on the floor continued to wrestle, Cain’s thin form no match for Jack’s extra bulk and muscle.

  “Stop!” Cam shouted, holding the gun in both hands. He was balanced on his knees, his back braced against Damon’s seat as Damon struggled frantically to bring the plane under control. “Jack, I will shoot you if you don’t leave Cain alone,” he promised.

  Jack froze, belly to the floor, and Cain scrambled away from him. The younger man’s nose was bleeding copiously and he kept a protective arm coiled around his ribs.

  “Cain?” Jack asked dumbly, as though he’d only just processed who he’d been fighting with for the past minute.

  “Are you okay?” Cam demanded as Cain backed himself over to the cabin wall. He managed to get his feet underneath him, and slid himself up the wall using the wall for support. He looked as though he might vomit.

  “No,” Cain whispered, staring at Jack with disgust and betrayal stamped onto his features. “I am not okay. You killed them?” he demanded.

  “Cain, baby, I can explain!” Jack pleaded.

  Baby? Now the utterly wrecked look in Cain’s eyes made so much sense.

  And also, holy shit.

  “You were working with him the whole time, and I thought… I thought we…” Devastation was evident in every word Cain spoke.

  The plane dipped again. “Fuck. The electronics are damaged,” Damon said, his voice thick with tension. “We need to make an emergency landing. The communications system isn’t working, Cam. I need a c
ell phone.”

  “Cain, get Jack’s cell and give it to Damon,” Cam demanded. “Now!”

  Cain dropped to his knees, still clutching his ribs, and wrestled the cell phone from Jack’s back pocket, handing it to Damon.

  “I have my phone, too,” Cain said, bracing himself against Cam’s shoulder as he heaved himself to his feet.

  “Cain, call your dad,” Jack said. “Explain what’s happened. He’ll help you.”

  “Fuck you. Don’t even talk to me,” Cain said. He stepped to one side and kicked Jack in the ribs, flinching and clutching his own stomach tighter. “I heard what you said about him. I heard everything.”

  “Cort? Cort listen to me,” Damon said into the phone. “No, don’t put me on speaker. Are you listening? Cort! He’s fine. He’s fine, I swear. Yeah, I’m fine, too. The Senator’s kid is here, and he’s fine as well. Cam got Jack’s gun. There was some damage to the plane and I’m setting it down early. I need you to… You did what? Oh my God.”

  Cam fought the urge to swivel his head as Damon groaned.

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Damon sighed. “Yeah, I know. I get it.” His tone was wry. “It’ll be alright. It was going to happen anyway. Listen, are you alone? I need you to be alone, Cort,” Damon commanded. He paused for a minute, then said, “Listen, we know who paid Jack. It was Emmett Shaw.”

  From the corner of his eye, Cam saw Cain bury his head in his hands. Meanwhile, Jack punched the floor and screamed, “Fuck!” He tried to stand, as though trying some misguided, last-ditch means of escape, so Cam instinctively reached out, bringing the butt of the gun down hard on the back of his head.

  Jack collapsed back to the floor and didn’t move.

  “Uh… That was nothing,” Damon said, obviously trying to soothe Cort. “Just a little trouble with Jack, but your boyfriend took care of it.”

  Cam sat back, his hands trembling as he continued holding the gun tight. Holy crap, what did I just do? He couldn’t tell if Jack was still breathing, and he was too afraid to check.

  Damon paused. “Yeah, I guess he is. Jury’s still out.” Damon coughed slightly. “Anyway, I’m turning back, heading for St. Michel. They have a tiny airport, you need to radio ahead and make sure… Right, yes. Exactly. Okay, and whatever you do, don’t tell… Alright, okay, you know how to do your job. Yeah, I’ve got this under control.” Damon’s voice was confident. “You can tell him yourself. We’re landing in about fifteen minutes.” Another pause. “Yeah, brother. I promise.”