by Kat Martin
Praise for New York Times bestselling author
Kat Martin
“[A] master of suspenseful romance…Martin doesn’t hold back on the page-turning thrills or steamy love scenes.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Kat Martin is a fast gun when it comes to storytelling, and I love her books.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller
“Drugs, lies, corruption, and long-held secrets are at the core of this hard-hitting romance and well-done series opener.”
—Library Journal on The Conspiracy
“An un-put-downable page-turner…sure to satisfy fans of romance and thrillers alike.”
—Kirkus Reviews on The Deception
“Martin is a terrific storyteller.”
—Booklist
“It doesn’t matter what Martin’s characters are up against—she dishes up romantic suspense, sizzling sex and international intrigue.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Martin revs the power from page one…. Fans of romantic suspense won’t be able to put [The Deception] down until the final page is turned.”
—Publishers Weekly
Also available from
Kat Martin
Maximum Security
The Conspiracy
Wait Until Dark (prequel novella)
The Deception
Shadows at Dawn (novella)
The Ultimate Betrayal
Before Nightfall (novella)
The Raines of Wind Canyon
Against the Mark
Against the Edge
Against the Odds
Against the Sun
Against the Night
Against the Storm
Against the Law
Against the Fire
Against the Wind
Don’t miss The Perfect Murder,
Kat Martin’s next book in the Maximum Security series from HQN,
in stores July 2021.
To see the complete list of titles available from Kat Martin, please visit www.katmartin.com.
Come Midnight
Kat Martin
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
THE SOUND OF a baby’s high-pitched, incessant crying put his teeth on edge. Derek Stiles forced himself to relax as he settled back in his wide leather business-class seat. The airplane engines hummed outside the window, dulling the noise a little, but the crying only grew louder.
Derek silently cursed. His trip to Colombia had already gotten off to a rocky start when a crucial meeting in the Houston office of Garrett Resources, where he worked as VP of mergers and acquisitions, ran over and he missed his nonstop flight. Now he’d be connecting in El Salvador, laying over a couple of hours before boarding a plane to Bogotá, not getting to his hotel until well after dark.
He pulled out his laptop and set it on the fold-down table in front of him, ready to turn it on once the 737 was in the air. He usually worked on a flight. He always had plenty to do, but he’d been staying up late every night, so he also needed some sleep. It was important to be at the top of his game first thing in the morning.
The baby’s cries grew louder, and his nerves revved up. He hadn’t really noticed the woman sitting in the seat beside him until she stood up and turned toward the mother and child in the row behind him.
She jangled her car keys over the back of the seat and smiled. “Look, baby. Look at these. I bet you’d like to play with these, wouldn’t you?” The baby’s crying slowed, turned to whimpers, then sniffles, then stopped altogether. Glancing over his shoulder, Derek watched a little girl bundled in pink, maybe a year old, reach up for the car keys.
“I never thought of that,” the mother said, sounding desperate and making him feel guilty. He didn’t have kids, but he could imagine how tough it would be to take a child on an international flight.
The mom, a black-haired woman in her midtwenties, took out her own set of keys and held them up, but the baby ignored them, fascinated by the glittering heart on the end of the other key chain dangling in front of her.
“I hate to ask you this,” the mother said, “but is it all right if Sophie plays with your keys for a while?”
“Absolutely,” his seatmate said. She was pretty, he realized, with long blond hair and big blue eyes. A little above average height, slender but curvy in all the right places. “Once we’re in the air,” she continued, “if you want me to hold her, give you a little break, I’d be happy to.”
The mother’s smile held relief and gratitude. “I might just take you up on that. My name is Carmen, by the way.”
“Breanna.” Her smile went even brighter, and Derek felt an unexpected kick. He was usually able to leave his libido behind when he was away on business.
“You have a darling baby,” Breanna said.
Carmen smiled. “Thank you.”
The flight attendant urged Breanna to sit back down so the flight could get underway, and the engines roared, preparing for takeoff.
“So I guess you’re a mom,” Derek heard himself saying, though he made it a habit of keeping to himself on a flight. He always had too much work to catch up on.
Breanna shifted to turn toward him. “I’d love to have children someday, but I’m not a mother yet. I work with kids, so I know a few tricks.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m with a nonprofit called Shelter the Children. Abrego Los Niños in Spanish. We support an orphanage in a little village outside San Salvador. That’s where I’m headed.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“What about you?”
“I work in the oil business as a VP for Garrett Resources. I’m on my way to Bogotá to explore a possible merger with a Colombian energy company. Missed my flight, so I’m taking the local.”
“You work for an oil company?”
“That’s right.”
Her dark gold eyebrows pinched together. “Don’t you worry about the environment?”
Here we go, he thought, wishing he had kept his mouth shut after all. “Actually, I do. My company is heavily invested in green energy research, but until we find a way to supply the needs of seven billion people, we’re stuck using fossil fuels.”
She glanced away, faint color in her cheeks. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be able to get to El Salvador without flying, and a jet needs fuel. I just wish the change would happen sooner.”
He relaxed and smiled. “So do I.” He held out a hand. “Derek Stiles. I know your name is Breanna.”
“Yes. Everyone just calls me Bree.”
“Nice to meet you, Bree.”
“You, too, Derek.”
When the flight attendant appeared to take their drink orders, Bree asked for a glass of chardonnay and Derek found himself ordering a scotch. He reminded himself he needed to be working—or sleeping—but as the conversation continued, he discovered he was enjoying himself.
“So you live in Houston?” he asked, intrigued despite himself.
“Dallas. I was in Houston for a charity benefit. It was easier just to fly on down from there.”
“A charity benefit. Sounds like you were there to ra
ise money.”
“That’s right. We do a lot of good for the kids, but it’s expensive.”
They talked some more. He deserved a little break, he told himself, ignoring his laptop. Everyone said he was a workaholic, and it was true. A few hours on a plane talking to a beautiful, interesting woman wasn’t a crime.
At one point, Carmen handed little Sophie over to Bree, and she rocked the baby to sleep.
“You’ve certainly got a way with kids,” he said.
“I know. I like them, and they usually like me.”
He was beginning to like her, too. When she handed the baby back to her mother half an hour later, it occurred to him he’d like to see her again after they got back to Texas.
“You know, Dallas isn’t that far from Houston. That’s where my company is headquartered, so I’m in the city fairly often. Any chance we could get together for a drink or dinner sometime?”
She looked down at his left hand. He had seen her do it before.
He smiled. “Not married, I promise.”
“Not living with anyone? No fiancée, no serious relationship, nothing like that?”
He wondered why she was so wary and guessed she had been burned before. “I give you my word—I’m not involved with anyone.” He didn’t have time to be. “So how about dinner when we get back?”
Her glance went over his expertly tailored navy blue suit and starched white shirt, clothes he hadn’t had time to change out of. He was six two, kept himself in shape, and wasn’t bad to look at. He wondered if she liked what she saw.
“I don’t date very much,” she said.
“Good. Then if you say yes, you’ll make me feel special.”
She laughed. “All right, I’ll give you my card. If you still want to get together when you get back to Texas, give me a call.”
“Great.” They exchanged business cards, and he looked down at her name. Breanna Winters. Director of finance, Renewed Hope Charities. One of his dark eyebrows went up. “Director of finance. Sounds like a big job.”
The faint blush returned to her cheeks. “It’s a lot of hard work, but it’s worth it.”
Now he was totally intrigued. He wondered why she didn’t date. She wasn’t just pretty—she was also intelligent and interesting. He thought he was right about her having been burned. He didn’t like the idea. He wondered about the prick who had done it.
They ate their meals, rubber chicken in marsala sauce for him, and a Niçoise salad for her, laughing and talking as the plane winged south.
They were an hour out of San Salvador International Airport when he noticed a commotion at the rear of the cabin. The curtain behind the business-class section flew open, and a lean, black-haired man stood in the aisle, an assault rifle strapped across his chest.
Adrenaline hit him like a punch in the stomach. In a thick Spanish accent, the gunman started shouting orders.
“This plane is now under the control of the Defensores de Naturaleza de Honduras. You will all stay calm and keep to your seats. Do exactly as we say and no one will get hurt.”
Breanna made a sound in her throat.
“Easy,” Derek said softly. He reached for her hand, and she laced her fingers with his. He could feel her trembling. “Whoever they are, they want something. We’re their means of getting it. If we do what they say, we should be all right.”
He only half believed it himself. But Bree was frightened, and the only way out of this was for everyone to stay calm.
The gunman remained where he was, which, combined with the engine noise, gave them an element of privacy.
“H-how many do you think there are?” Breanna whispered.
“Enough to take control of the plane. There’s somewhere around 160 passengers on a 737, plus the crew. One guy in each section. I’d say four or five at least.”
“How could they get their guns through the TSA metal detectors?”
“Smuggled them aboard, most likely. Vetting everyone in the airport ground crew at an international airport is nearly impossible.”
“If you’re right, someone in the flight crew must be involved.”
“Yeah, unfortunately.”
He felt the tilt of the wings as the plane began making a slow turn, altering its course. Then the captain’s voice came over the loud speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen. By now you know control of the plane has been taken over by outside forces. We are changing direction to land in Honduras. We’ve been assured that once the group’s demands are met, you will all be released. Please stay calm. We should be landing at our new destination within the hour.”
“One of them must be in the cockpit,” Bree whispered. “I thought the doors were kept locked to prevent this kind of thing.”
“Maybe the pilot or copilot is their inside man. Or it could be one of the flight attendants. Looks like they had this well planned.”
“What...what do you think they want?”
“Silencio!” The gunman strode up the aisle and paused right next to Bree’s seat. He had a narrow face, high cheekbones and hollow cheeks. “No more talking!”
The soft little whimper came again. Her hand was shaking. Derek squeezed her fingers.
It seemed half a lifetime had passed instead of only an hour before he felt a subtle shift in the plane’s altitude. It was still daylight, but soon dusk would be falling. The plane had been in the air for nearly four hours. The gunman had moved back into position next to the curtain, where he could watch everyone in his section.
“We’re starting our descent,” Bree said.
“That could be good. Once we’re on the ground, they’ll get the negotiations underway.” Or it could be very bad. But he didn’t say that.
“I’m really scared,” Bree said.
I’m not feeling too good about this myself, Derek thought. “We’ll be okay,” he said.
That was when the baby started crying.
CHAPTER TWO
“SILENCIO!”
Bree’s stomach curled into a knot. The gunman strode up the aisle and stopped next to Carmen and her baby. An overweight passenger, a red-faced man with thinning brown hair, sat in the aisle seat next to them.
He was sweating profusely, clearly afraid. “Keep that goddamned kid quiet,” he demanded.
Next to Bree, Derek stiffened. He was tall enough to turn and look over the back of his seat. “Take it easy, buddy. She’s doing the best she can.”
Carmen jiggled Sophie on her lap, and the baby finally stopped crying. The plane continued its descent, and the hijacker strode back down the aisle to where he had been standing before. The captain made the usual announcements about tray tables and seatbacks, and the gunman settled himself in one of the flight attendants’ seats for the landing.
Derek had taken a chance and opened his laptop, been on it a couple of minutes before the gunman had spotted him and loudly demanded he hand it over. Bree wondered what message he had sent. The plane was equipped with GPS, so by now its altered course would have been charted by the authorities. The hijackers were probably already negotiating for the passengers’ release.
Or at least she prayed they were.
She flicked a glance toward the man seated beside her. Unlike the overweight guy next to Carmen, Derek Stiles had stayed cool and collected. At least on the surface. She had a feeling he was seething underneath, furious the men had been able to get past security and take over the plane.
She had noticed him as soon as she’d buckled into her seat: very good-looking and clean shaven, with short, thick, perfectly styled dark brown hair. Broad shouldered, with what appeared to be a lean, solid build, the guy made his expensive, perfectly tailored navy blue suit look way better than it ever could on a rack.
Everything about him shouted successful businessman, a corporate higher-up. Which, apparently, he was. He exuded conf
idence and control, and she felt better having him beside her. It was probably foolish, but he made her feel safer.
The plane landed smoothly and streaked down the runway, the brakes slowing the aircraft more rapidly than usual.
“Short runway,” Derek said as the tires screeched. A puff of dust and smoke rose in the windows, and the plane slowed even more.
Bree looked out the window and saw dense jungle the length of the runway as far as she could see. Mountains heavily covered with tropical trees and vines rose in the distance. “Where do you think we are?”
Derek looked past her out the window. “No idea. Middle of nowhere, that’s for sure.”
The captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “We have arrived at our new destination. The authorities have been contacted and are working to resolve the situation. I ask that you all remain calm until that happens.”
The plane went silent, and the minutes began to tick past.
“What happens now?” Bree asked. In answer, the hollow-cheeked, hard-faced gunman strode to the front of the plane and turned to face them. His hands curled around the stock of the assault rifle strapped across his chest.
“You will take out your passports and your cell phones. You will place them in the bag being carried down the aisle.”
Nausea rolled in Bree’s stomach. Handing over her passport was exactly what she’d been afraid of. Dear God, if they realized who she was—
She clamped down on the thought. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize her name. Her real name, the one on her passport, not the one on her business cards that she had been using for the last five years.
She told herself there was no reason to panic. She was in a foreign country, away from American newspapers and TV. The men were terrorists with their own agenda. So far it seemed to have nothing to do with her.
Looking back down the aisle, Bree saw a woman—one of the terrorists—in the same black pants, white shirt and lace-up leather boots the male hijacker had been wearing. She had the same sort of assault weapon draped across her chest, too. Her hair was black and thick, pulled back into a severe knot at the nape of her neck. She held a plastic garbage bag in front of her, pausing at each row to collect passports and cell phones from the passengers on each side of the aisle.