Risking It All for Her Boss: A Heroes for Hire novel (Entangled Ignite)

by Sharron McClellan

  The snick of a switchblade being opened made her freeze. Raising the knife, he twisted her away from him to face Felix.

  The best position to slit her throat and show the scientist who was in control.

  But she wasn’t going to go that easily. Not now. Not ever.

  Eva threw herself backward, crashing into the hijacker before he could put the blade to skin. She drove him toward the front of the plane until he tripped, taking her with him.

  She head-butted the downed man with the back of her skull. He screamed. Shouts filled the cabin as she struggled to her feet, hands still tied. She glimpsed Felix struggling with the other assailant, trying to stop him from helping his comrade.

  They wanted the scientist. They wouldn’t hurt him.

  It was a chance she had to take, or they’d both die.

  At her feet, Michael groaned. Blood covered his face.

  “Run!” Felix screamed.

  Cockpit. Eva jumped over the downed man, took one last opportunity to kick him in the head, sprinted the few feet into the cockpit, and slammed the door shut with her elbow. Her fingers fumbling due to the restraints, she felt for the lock.

  Come on. Come on.

  Found it. She flipped the lever, and the tumblers clicked into place.

  Seconds later, she heard shouts on the other side of the door, but she knew they couldn’t get in. Not on a jet built after 9/11. She surveyed the cabin, hoping for something sharp to free herself but found nothing.

  There was a hard thump against the door, and she flinched. What was happening out there? Where were the camera controls? She found a screen next to the pilot’s seat and used her nose to flick it on. Felix was still struggling, but he was alive. She sighed in relief and said a quick thank you to the universe.

  She knew what she had to do—keep him alive no matter what. She pushed the audio button. “Felix, do as they say,” she said, her voice filling the cabin.

  The kidnappers jumped at the sound, but Felix sagged in relief. He said something, but the audio seemed to be one-way only. “I can’t hear you,” she said.

  His shoulder slumped, and his gaze dropped, reminiscent of his despondency during his time as FARC victim. She wished she could hug him. Stop what was happening.

  But she knew it was impossible. There was only one thing she could do under the circumstances. Offer hope. “Do as they say,” she said. “I’ll find you. I promise.”

  He nodded and let them put the parachute on him. Her throat tightened. It might be a tandem rigging, but the odds of the older man surviving a jump from a jet were slim.

  The pair yanked Felix toward the back of the plane. On the screen, she watched Andrew access a panel in the floor. There was only one place it could go—the baggage area. They were going out the bottom of the plane to bypass the engines.

  She glanced out the window. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, but they also were much lower than they were before. Twelve-thousand feet, according to the altimeter. They must have adjusted the autopilot while she was knocked out. Another thousand feet or less, and the pressure on the inside and outside of the plane would be equalized enough to open the door.

  Andrew moved to the side of the open hatch and tried to push the scientist in.

  Felix sat at the edge, and then looked toward the cockpit. He mouthed a single word, Pauline.

  The bloody-nosed hijacker backhanded Felix across the mouth, and she made a silent promise to make sure he paid for the gesture.

  “I’ll tell her.” Her chest tightened.

  They pushed him into the belly of the plane.

  The one called Michael stared into the camera, and she didn’t need to be an expert lip-reader to know he said Good luck, though his expression suggested he wished anything but that for her. He disappeared, the door slamming shut behind him.

  She stared at the screen. A light began to blink, indicating the baggage door was open.

  Be safe, Felix.

  She leaned back in the chair. She was unharmed. And in front of her, there was nothing but open sky. The reality that she was in a jet—by herself—sunk in.

  She was going to die.

  “Shut up, Eva,” she muttered. Now was not the time to freak out. She could do that after she landed. And she willed herself to stop shaking.

  First thing’s first. After opening the cockpit door, she found the kitchen.

  She pulled open drawers, checking as she went, until she found the knives. They weren’t sharp, but since this was a private jet, they weren’t plastic.

  In less than a minute, she was free. Rubbing her wrists, she fought the rising panic as she reentered the cockpit and sat back down. “Radio first,” she said, walking herself through the steps. “Then panic.”

  A nervous giggle escaped, and she swallowed it down as she set the radio to 121.5 MGs—the international frequency for planes in distress.

  Calm. Stay calm. She pressed the button. “Mayday. Mayday. Is anyone out there? Mayday.”

  …

  This was going to suck, Eva thought. She’d contacted an air-traffic-control tower over an hour ago, and they’d patched her through to a Gulfstream pilot named Marcos, who had walked her through setting up the auto-pilot and familiarizing herself with the most important dials on the panel before her. For the most part, the small jet flew itself and even had auto brakes.

  But despite all the technology and advances—the last fifty feet of the landing would be up to her.

  Her hands shook, and her mouth went bone-dry at the thought.

  Just keep it on the runway, Marcos had told her. That’s all she had to do.

  And while it seemed straightforward, she’d be operating the rudder with her feet—steering the plane as it were—and that was harder than it sounded.

  She glanced at the controls. Dulles airport wasn’t far now. Her pulse beat harder as her brain thought of every worst-case scenario it could muster. She tried to ignore them, but the reality was that she might die.

  And she needed to say some things in case that happened. “Marcos?”

  “Everything okay?” he asked, his Texas drawl making her think of all things cowboy.

  Her brows arched upward. “Considering the circumstances, I’m fine.”

  He chuckled.

  “I’m going to get my phone and make a call. It’ll just take a minute.”

  “I’d prefer you to not leave the left seat. You can make all the phone calls you want once you’re on the ground.”

  “Easy to issue orders when you’re standing in the Control Tower,” she muttered.

  He chuckled again. “The Tower? I’m at home having a pulled-pork sandwich with my lovely wife, Natasha.”

  Eva froze. She was going to die, she realized. Killed by a pilot who was eating a sandwich. “You’re at home? Shouldn’t you at least be at an airport?”

  “I know that plane and every major airport in the US better than the back of my hand,” Marcos replied, his voice calm, professional, and a little amused. “I don’t need to be in the Tower to tell you what you need to know. Of course, if you want to circle the airport for an hour, I can drive to Dulles and accommodate you.”

  Smart-ass. But his confidence helped quell the rising fear. She’d trusted him this far; what was another few minutes? “Let’s not,” she replied, unbuckling herself. “I’ll be back in thirty seconds,” and she left before he could argue.

  Hurrying to the passenger area, she knelt down and spotted the device under the seats. Wiggling on her belly, she retrieved it and hurried back to the cockpit.

  “I’m back,” she said. “And all is well, so don’t bitch at me.”

  “Never crossed my mind,” he replied. “Did you get what you wanted?”

  “Yeah. I just have to make a call.”

  He didn’t tell her to make it quick, but she knew time was running out. According to the screen, Quinn had called back over ten times since the alteration with the kidnappers.

  She hit redial.

  He pic
ked up on the first ring. ”I thought you were dead.”

  “Hello to you, too,” she snapped, but she heard the fear beneath his anger and immediately wished she’d held her tongue. She didn’t want to argue. “Sorry. I was occupied and had other things to do besides search for the phone.”

  He sighed. “Okay. You’re alive. That’s all that matters. I take it the situation is under control?”

  She stared at the myriad of dials, levers, and knobs in front of her and then at the city lights out the window. “Kind of,” she said, sounding more worried than she’d planned.

  “What does that mean?” he replied.

  She wondered if he was going to be more annoyed or concerned. The old Quinn would have been a combination of solid rock and alarmed boyfriend. The man he was now was hard to read. Only one way to find out. “The men took Felix and parachuted out through the baggage area under the plane.”

  The cockpit was silent as he put the pieces together. “Who’s landing the plane?” he finally asked.

  “I am,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

  “Can you do that?” His tone told her nothing, and she wondered what was going through his mind.

  “That’s the plan,” she replied. “The tower connected me with a Gulfstream pilot who walked me through what to do. He said with autopilot, it’s a piece of cake.”

  “But you still have to land it yourself.”

  “Only the last fifty feet,” she assured him. “And once I hit the runway—”

  Bad choice of words, she realized.

  “—all I have to do is keep it on the tarmac.”

  “Like you said, piece of cake,” he replied, but his attempt at lightness sounded forced.

  “You ready for this?” Marcos cut in. “It’s time.”

  “One minute,” Eva replied. She closed her eyes, blocking out the controls and the world. If this went badly, she didn’t want her last moments with Quinn to be superficial. She wanted the honesty they used to have, if only for a brief moment. “Quinn, I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “Me, too,” he admitted.

  He might not be next to her in the plane, but the admission made her feel as if she were not alone. Her pulse slowed, and she opened her eyes, feeling stronger for having the chance to connect with someone—even Quinn. “One more thing—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re saying good-bye.” He cut her off.

  She was scared, but she wasn’t giving in. Not now. Not ever. “Are you kidding me?” she replied with a snicker. “You don’t get off that easy. You owe me for this one. ‘It’ll be a cake walk’,” she said, mocking him. “‘Do it. Prove yourself.’”

  “This is HRS,” he said, and she thought she could hear a smile. “Nothing is ever a cake walk. You knew that.”

  She found herself nodding her head. “Yeah? Well, this is above and beyond, and we’re going to have a chat once I’m on the ground.”

  “I hate to interrupt, but it’s time to land this bird,” Marcos piped in over the radio. “You’re cleared for approach.”

  “I have to go,” she told Quinn, wishing for more time. But that was always the issue—not enough time. Not with her parents. Not with Quinn.

  “Where are they having you put down?” he asked.

  “Dulles. They have the longest runway and a response team on site,” she said. In case I crash.

  “Leave the phone on,” he said.

  She nodded again, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Of course.”

  “Here we go,” Marcos said. “Dial in the final approach.”

  Placing the phone on the other seat, she set the vector, and the plane adjusted, maneuvering to keep the needles centered for the localizer, which kept her positioned for the runway. Another needle moved to the top, indicating the glideslope was working, navigating her vertical position in the air. “Localizer and glideslope captured,” she responded.

  “Good girl. I’ll be with you the whole way,” Marcos said. His voice still reassured her, but she wished it were Quinn in her ear.

  Two hundred feet, the computer announced the descent.

  One hundred fifty feet.

  One hundred feet.

  “Remember, use your feet.” Marcos said. “Don’t touch the wheel. It can’t help you here.”

  Fifty feet.

  Eva took a deep breath, held it, and turned off the autopilot.

  “It’s all you,” Marcos said. “Keep your nose up.”

  All her. Her heart beat so hard she thought it might crack her sternum.

  …

  Hands tented in front of his mouth, Quinn listened as Eva spoke to the Gulfstream pilot, wishing he understood the lingo. Maybe then he’d feel more confident that she’d be all right. He couldn’t take the thought of losing her.

  She set the vector—whatever that was—and he thought about the last time she’d come this close to death.

  It was her second mission, and she’d had the cocky “I’m invincible” attitude that most new recruits exhibited until they learned better. In her case, it was almost deserved. She was top of the class. An exceptional actress. And the streets of Bogotá had made her into a survivor.

  It was all of those skills that had saved her when one of the members of the survivalist group she’d infiltrated caught her springing their prisoner—and HRS’s client. She’d won the fight that followed but at the expense of a knife to her ribs, puncturing a lung.

  Two hours and a hike through a swamp later, as air filled the sack around her lung, she’d managed to get the client to safety.

  Then she’d collapsed.

  He’d rushed to her in the hospital, but she’d been sedated when he’d arrived. And even though she’d been full of tubes, he was the one who had felt helpless. Useless.

  Watching her sleep, kept unconscious with drugs, he’d known what he had to do to protect himself. And her.

  If they stayed together, he’d risk having his guts ripped out every time she went into the field, and it wouldn’t take long before he’d ask her to take safer jobs.

  She’d refuse. They’d fight. And they’d end up putting both their careers at risk.

  All because he loved her.

  There was only one option if he wanted to help both of them—he had to leave her.

  It was the hardest decision he’d ever made, but he was determined. So as soon as she was awake, he’d told her it was over. That he’d realized when she was gone that their relationship was hampering his career path.

  To her credit, she hadn’t shed a tear but simply turned her back to him.

  He’d moved on, or so he’d assured himself.

  Then why are you staying on the phone? A small kernel of truth demanded. Why do you keep tracking her every move?

  Fifty feet. The present came rushing back. She was getting ready to land.

  Quinn squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his will on the Universe to keep her safe.

  Over the speaker, the plane hummed. There was the scraping sound as the wheels hit the tarmac, and the engines screamed.

  Keep your nose up! Marcos shouted over the noise.

  “Got it!” Eva screamed back.

  There was a thump. Then nothing but silence.

  Chapter Four

  Eva lay in the oversize tub, the hotel bathroom lit only by a few candles, and let herself relax for the first time since she’d landed the plane eight hours ago. From the moment the Gulfstream had come to a grinding halt, she’d been detained by Washington Dulles TSA.

  Their interrogation hadn’t even qualified as an interrogation as far as she was concerned, and she suspected that most of the questioning had been to keep her there while they verified her story. Luckily, Temperance had covers for every contingency, and even if she didn’t have one for a particular scenario, she was smart enough to hire a team who could create one faster than most people could Google their ex’s name.

  After that, she’d headed to the nearest airport hotel to wait for order
s and wash the scent of sweat and fear from her skin.

  She snagged the glass of white wine she’d set on the edge of the tub and took a sip. Sweeter than she liked, but it did the job. Her hand still on the stem, she rested the glass on the flat of her stomach and turned on the hot water with her foot, letting it run until the water turned her skin pink.

  Perfect.

  She shut her eyes, but the heat and wine didn’t stop her thoughts from skipping to Felix and what had happened on the plane. The confession. The hijack. It had been so surreal.

  How could she have been so wrong about so many things?

  A shadow passed over her vision, blocking out the candlelight. Eva shot upward, the wine tumbling from her hands and into the water as she reached for the knife she’d placed on the other side of the oversize tub.

  “Relax. It’s me,” a deep voice said.

  Dammit. “Hello, Quinn.”

  “Having a nice soak?”

  A simple question, and yet he still managed to make it sound like she’d spent the last few hours goofing off. She pushed wet hair from her face with her free hand and set the knife back on the ledge. Why was it so impossible to escape his presence? It seemed that not even the width of a country was enough.

  “Can I get you a towel?” he asked. His hot gaze ran the length of her naked body, from feet to forehead, with a familiarity that made her blush.

  “You’re such an ass,” she snapped, as she realized how little the bubbles hid her breasts poking through like petite mounds.

  If he wanted to see her naked, let him. She wasn’t going to let it bother her. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen her nude body. Rising from the tub, she stepped over the edge. His gaze flickered down the length of her body, then back to her face—his eyes black in the candlelight, making them difficult to read.

  But she knew him well enough to know that whatever was behind those dark eyes, it wasn’t concern for her now that she was safe.

  She shoved him out of the way, leaving two wet handprints on his black T-shirt.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. Wrapping a thick towel around her wet hair, she grabbed another and dried her skin, forcing herself to take her time.