by Bella Rose
The engines whined as she slowed and tried to control their angle. The trajectory was good. She felt one set of wheels touch down. There was a puff of dirt out one window, and then the other set of wheels hit. Blair struggled with the steering yoke. Bracing her feet on the floor and her butt in the seat, she fought the controls and kept the plane going straight as they managed to land.
Her heart was beating so fast once it was all over that she could hardly breathe, much less think. A sense of elation swept through her. It made her feel positively giddy. She had landed a plane blind! Pilots with triple her experience would have been in over their heads, yet she had done this on her own under a terrific amount of stress.
Unfortunately, there was nobody to share in her glorious achievement. There was only a Russian mobster with a sardonic expression on his face who cocked his head to one side and shrugged as though he’d never had a doubt.
“Excellent.” He sounded almost bored. “I see the fuel truck. Can you taxi over there or must I send your friend out there to fetch it?”
“The terrain is too rough out there for this plane.” She swallowed back a strange sense of disappointment. Did she actually want him to be proud of what she’d done?
“Then Ethan goes. The keys should be in the truck.”
Ethan popped his head in from the cabin. “There’s no ground crew?” He looked mystified. “I can’t drive a fuel truck!”
“Yes you can,” Blair told him firmly. “You drive your car all the time.”
“What if it’s a stick shift?” he moaned.
Blair sighed. “Your car is a stick.”
“Yes, but that’s different,” Ethan moaned.
Romanov was looking disgruntled. “Enough of this. You will figure it out or your pilot friend will suffer the consequences of your failure.”
Ethan started at him, brows lifted in surprise. “But you need her to fly the plane!”
“Not if there’s no fuel,” Romanov shot back.
Ethan turned and hustled back toward the cabin. She heard him throwing open the door and scrambling down the chain ladder to the ground. A scant minute later they could see him from the cockpit as he minced his way across the rutted ground toward the fuel truck.
“So that is how you view us,” she mused quietly. “We are only alive until we are no longer useful. Thank you for clearing that up so thoroughly.”
***
Mikhail could not decide why her assessment bothered him so much. It was true, was it not? The moment she and her friend were a burden, he would have no choice but to rid himself of their presence. It was a sad fact of his life.
Ethan had apparently made peace with the fuel truck, because the thing was lurching its way toward them across the rutted expanse of dirt and grass. Mikhail began to wonder if the man was going to crash the truck into the plane and somehow ground them in that fashion.
“I’m going to go help him before he destroys both the truck and the plane and strands us all out here,” Mikhail grunted.
“As you wish.” She didn’t look at him. Instead she checked her instruments and looked over a clipboard’s worth of checklist items.
Mikhail wondered if the routine helped to settle her nerves. He supposed there was no harm in that since she was still the one who had to fly this damn plane the rest of the way to Las Vegas. Mikhail left Blair to her mutterings and went out to help Ethan fuel the plane.
“It’s just so dirty,” Ethan said grouchily. “I’m never going to get this smell off my clothes. But I’m sure mister high and mighty rich mobster doesn’t care anything about that.”
“No, not particularly,” Mikhail agreed.
It was amusing to watch the other man spin around like he was about to piss himself. “I’m sorry! You could make a little noise though. You would have less of a chance of hearing something you don’t like if you’d make your presence known once in a while.”
“Perhaps I like sneaking around and discovering exactly what people think of me,” Mikhail suggested. “There is far less guesswork that way.”
“Oh.”
“Here.” Mikhail placed both hands on the fuel port beside the wing of the aircraft and turned it. “Now put the hose inside.”
“That’s what he said,” Ethan whispered.
Mikhail almost gave in to the desire to roll his eyes. “Does nothing dampen your libido?”
“Not that I’ve discovered,” Ethan said tartly. “And really, the way you just turned that thing…um, um…scrumptious!”
“I’ve threatened to shoot you full of holes and murder your friend,” Mikhail reminded him drily.
“Yes, but you’ve yet to threaten rape. If you do, might I volunteer?” Ethan waggled his eyebrows.
Mikhail didn’t even have the words to formulate a response. “You are an odd sort of being,” he finally said.
“So I’ve been told.” Ethan looked thoughtful. “If you were going to hurt us, you would have already. That does not mean I believe you wouldn’t if it became expedient, but I don’t feel like that’s actually your best course of action here.”
Surprisingly, the man was quite astute when it came to ascertaining people’s motivations. Interesting. Mikhail wondered if this trait had been developed after dealing with people’s scorn and judgment during his lifetime.
“I would ask though,” Ethan said in a very respectful tone. “Could you please not hurt Blair? She’s had quite enough violence and destruction in her life.”
“Is that so?”
“Her parents were murdered when she was a teenager,” Ethan explained. “So yes.”
“You are trying to humanize her to me so that I will feel a connection that will render me unable to murder her should the opportunity or necessity arise.” Mikhail was amused by this tactic. “Nicely done, but not necessary. I rarely murder anyone these days.”
“Have you any idea how ominous that sounds to laypeople like myself and Blair?” Ethan asked casually. “It’s really quite terrifying.”
“Good.” Mikhail looked at the gauge on the truck. “Is the plane full?”
“I think so.” Ethan peered at the hose. “You would have to ask Blair.”
“Let me check with her then.” Mikhail turned to go back up the steps. “Stay here and don’t do anything stupid.”
Ethan gave a snappy salute. “Yes, sir, mafia man, sir!”
Mikhail didn’t comment, mostly because he sensed it would be wasted. Instead, he climbed into the cockpit once again. Blair sat with her back to him, her hair brushing her shoulders and the line of her back as tense as could be.
“Does the plane have enough fuel to make it to Vegas?” he asked without preamble.
She canted her head to one side, presumably so she could catch a glimpse of him over her shoulder. “Yes.”
“Then we’re ready to go.”
“I would like to discuss something first,” she said quickly. “It won’t take but a minute.”
“I’m listening.”
She swiveled in her chair to face him. He saw her shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath she let in and out. “I would like to leave Ethan here.”
Mikhail raised an eyebrow. “That’s rather cruel, don’t you think? There is no one else here and no transportation.”
“He has a cell phone. He can call for rescue once we’ve taken off.” She glanced out the cockpit windows. “Considering we’re about to take off in the dark without a tower or any other guidance, he’s probably smart enough to want to stay on the ground anyway.”
“And if I refuse?” He had no intention of refusing, but he wondered what she would do anyway.
“Then your flight is grounded.” She stubbornly folded her arms across her chest. “If you let Ethan go, I’ll cooperate.”
“All right then.” Mikhail nodded. “Does Ethan have a bag here on the plane?”
“Yes.” She got up and grabbed a pack from a cabinet. “This belongs to him.”
Mikhail took it from her. “Excellent.
You begin your preflight. We need to get moving. I’ll deal with your friend.”
“But…” she began and then trailed off. Turning back around to her instruments, she seemed to fold in on herself a little.
Mikhail walked back to the exterior cabin door. Ethan had just put the hose back on the fuel truck. Mikhail tossed the bag to the ground. Ethan glanced up when he saw it. His expression was horrified.
“What are you doing?” Ethan demanded, sounding almost panicky.
Mikhail pointed to the bag. “Your friend has purchased your freedom. She says to use the cell phone you have stashed on your person to call for help. Call whomever you think you should, but I will warn you to stay off my tail lest I feel cornered and in need of a hostage disposal.”
“You bastard!” Ethan shouted. “Don’t you hurt her!”
“I won’t.” Mikhail actually smiled. “I have a strange feeling I will be seeing you around, though I cannot imagine why.”
Chapter Four
Mikhail could well understand the tension on Blair’s face as she asked the plane for more speed. He wondered if what she was experiencing was similar to the leadership position with the Bratva that was being thrust upon him. Sometimes responsibility was a good thing. Other times it was anything but.
He was sitting in her copilot seat. So far she did not seem inclined to complain about his presence. Blair shoved the throttle and got the plane moving toward the airstrip. She glanced over at him. “I cannot even describe how wrong it feels to do this without the assistance of air traffic control. I don’t know if there is anything coming in, but we’re leaving so we had better hope that anyone coming in will either move over or be far enough away to be of no consequence.”
There was a low buzzing sound from the radio and occasional chatter. Mikhail wondered if she kept it on simply out of habit. Then he suddenly realized what her little speech was suggesting. “You mean there’s only one way on and off the ground at this airstrip. Is that what you meant by everyone else deciding to move over?”
“Theoretically, planes land in one direction and take off in the other to avoid the obvious collision, but yes. We could be setting ourselves up for a crash course.” She cast him a sardonic look. “Why? Are you chicken?”
“Having never played chicken on an airplane, I’m not sure I can answer that.” His stomach dropped unpleasantly as they rocketed down the runway.
His expression must have shown his uncertainty, because she grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that. We had to pick up some speed because I have no way to actually see where the runway ends. We would be screwed if we happened to overshoot our takeoff threshold.”
“Sensible choice,” he murmured. “I suppose I should have asked you if this takeoff was even possible from this location.”
“Frankly, I didn’t think you cared.” She glanced over at him. “You look a little ill, Mr. Romanov. There’s a barf bag to your right.” She said it so casually he almost didn’t register her meaning. “Please do not hurl on the controls.”
“I’m not going to vomit.” Mikhail couldn’t help it. He was outraged by the suggestion. “Don’t you think I have a stronger—how do you say it—constitution than that?”
Now she was outright laughing at him as they soared upwards at some insane trajectory. “I don’t know. Do you? I’ve never seen a job description for a mobster. I would assume that fear of the sight of blood would be a no-no, but maybe motion sickness is permissible?”
He opened his mouth to respond when he realized something. “You’re teasing me.”
“Yes. Has this never happened to you before?”
Mikhail snorted. “No. I have never been teased by a pilot who used to be my hostage, after stealing a plane.”
“That sounds pretty convoluted.” Blair was checking her instruments. “But back to the task at hand.”
“Yes?” He tried to focus on that, but kept getting distracted by his fascinating companion.
“Once we get to Las Vegas, we’re going to have a bit of difficulty trying to land this thing and just walk away. So any ideas, resources, or other help your network of gangsters can supply would be appreciated.” Her tone was completely matter of fact.
“We have a plan in place. When I believe it’s time, I will explain everything. My brother Ivan is the one who manages all of those details.”
Blair sighed. “I hope Ethan doesn’t get into trouble because of me. If I’m lucky, they’ll just think he was a hostage who got dumped.”
There were a few moments of silence. It was surprisingly comfortable. Mikhail felt himself begin to relax. The elimination of Ethan somehow seemed to lessen the tension in the cockpit.
“So what are you on the run from?” Blair asked. “Since I’m up here aiding and abetting, I think I have a right to know.”
“You’re not aiding and abetting. You’re a hostage.”
“The minute I opened that cockpit door to save Ethan, I lost the ability to claim any of that. I violated company protocol about a dozen times over,” she grimly informed him.
“Your company would have preferred to have one of its employees gutted?” Mikhail found this hard to believe.
“Yes. That would be preferred over giving a terrorist control of a plane inside US airspace.”
“Oh. I can see the thought process behind that,” Mikhail mused. “Although it’s still quite harsh to expect employees who obviously like each other to stand back and watch the murder of one of their own.”
“Fortunately this does not happen,” she assured him. “Ever. Which brings me back around to my question. Why? Why is there ever a need for violence or to carry a gun and brandish it about?”
Mikhail pursed his lips. He was tired of everything, but mostly of this life. That did not make it all right to confide his feelings to someone like Blair. “The FBI found an informant who was willing to testify against me and my brothers. The Bratva have business interests in many American cities, but Chicago and New York are our primary locations in the US.”
“So I’m flying you to Las Vegas because you want to avoid getting arrested?” She snorted with disgust. “You should have rented a car. That would have been so much easier.”
“I’m not a citizen. Every time I rent a car, the FBI starts breathing down my neck.” Mikhail gestured to the copilot’s seat, needing a change of subject. “Why do you fly by yourself?”
“Budget cuts.”
“Oh?” He chuckled. “We have had some budgetary cuts recently too.”
“That sounds preposterous, you know.” She gave him a smile and the sight nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Her eyes sparkled and her complexion glowed with vitality.
“Business is business no matter what side of the law it operates on.” Mikhail waved his hand.
“So why not operate on the right side of the law and eliminate the need to hijack a chartered jet?” she suggested.
“It is amusing that you would say that.” He considered her words, relaxing back into the comfortable chair. “I have wanted to switch sides, as they say, for my whole adult life. I am the eldest son of Sergei Romanov.”
“Romanov,” she said lightly. “What? Like Anastasia Romanov and the last czar of Russia?”
“You Americans are all obsessed with that story.” Mikhail laughed, surprised to realize that he was truly laughing without any pretense. “And I suppose if you traced our family back that far, then yes. We are descended from the czars of Russia.”
“Well if that is when your family decided to operate on the wrong side of the law, I suppose it could be forgiven.”
“Tell me you are joking.” He stared at her in fascination.
“I am.” She glanced over at him. “And I find it sad that a grown man can’t choose his own career path.”
“Did your family always support your decision to be a pilot?” He found that he was immensely curious about her private life.
“My family didn’t support anything. They have been dead too many years for th
em to care.”
The shortness of her tone spoke volumes about how she viewed her situation. Mikhail decided not to press her for the moment. “You would think,” he began slowly, “that a grown man would always have the choice in what he does. What people often forget is that when that man loves and respects his family in spite of their failings and shortcomings, he is hesitant to turn his back on them and pursue his own interests.”
“You think that would be selfish,” she guessed.
“Perhaps.” Mikhail stood up. “I will be back shortly. I need to check in with my brother and get our coordinates and instructions for landing in Vegas.”
***
Blair marveled over the fact that when she wanted time to move quickly, it seemed to drag. But moments like these where she would not have cared if it took them all day and all night to reach Vegas, time spooled by unchecked. They bypassed the big Las Vegas airport. She skirted their airspace, hoping that they wouldn’t draw any attention to themselves. Generally private planes were seen as nothing more than a nuisance. As long as they stayed out of the way of the larger commercial flights, nobody paid them any mind.
Mikhail lazily sank into copilot’s seat. His lackadaisical manner was both irritating and intriguing to Blair. Her entire life seemed to hang in the balance and yet he acted like this was just another trip.
“This is the information that you need.” He placed a piece of paper on her controls.
She frowned. “Is that a script?”
“It is.” He offered nothing more than a curt nod. “Simply say exactly what is written and we will land without incident. Deviate and they will be all over us.”
“You’re putting an awful lot of trust in me,” she muttered. “I could start screaming for help and there would be nothing you could do.”
The airstrip Blair was heading for actually belonged to Skye Aviation. She should have found that very disturbing since Mikhail was insinuating that his mafia connections had secured them a way to land without FAA approval. There did not seem to be much in the way of traffic tonight and Blair was glad. On her way by, Blair spotted two smaller jets refueling, and a larger craft sitting on the tarmac, waiting for a pilot.