Simcosky straightened from his slouch against the metal shelving. The ice had melted from his eyes, but his face hadn’t lost its impassiveness. “What you’re describing requires major firepower. We passed through the security gate. It’s state of the art. Maybe a single person carrying a single weapon could slip through undetected, but multiple men, smuggling multiple weapons? It stretches credibility.”
“The guns are already on the plane. They’re beneath the seats. All the hijackers have to do is bend down and pull them out.” She paused, but forced herself to continue, her voice growing hoarser with each word. “Once the plane levels out, they grab the guns and start shooting. When the gunfire stops, everyone in coach is dead.”
The screams still echoed in her head. Beth scrubbed her palms down her face, and pressed her fingers against her burning eyes. “I don’t understand it, though.” She dropped her hands. “Why kill them? It doesn’t make sense. PacAtlantic would negotiate for their release.”
Zane studied her face, tilted his head and slowly shook it. “PacAtlantic wouldn’t be in control. The FBI and DHS would step in.” He paused a beat. “Skyjacking’s considered an act of terrorism. And the United States government does not negotiate with terrorists. Since coach passengers were apparently no use to them, they could have been eliminating any potential threats.” Deep in thought, he stared at the whitewashed door. “What did they do with the first-class passengers?”
“It sounded like they were being held for ransom.”
“Depending on who’s flying first class, that would net some pretty hefty profits,” Zane acknowledged, but the observation wasn’t directed at Beth. Absently he reached out to settle his palm over the nape of her neck, a silent comfort, as well as a leash. “Where did these bastards land the plane?”
Beth thought back, trying to remember the name of the tiny country they’d diverted the airliner to, trying to ignore the way his hand warmed her skin. The contact shouldn’t have felt so good. She barely knew the man. Fifteen minutes in his company should not have conditioned her to his touch. She could not possibly have missed the contact during those chilly minutes of disbelief and suspicion.
“They called it Puerto Jardin. They blew the cockpit doors and killed the pilots. One of the hijackers took over flying.”
“Puerto Jardin,” Zane repeated beneath his breath. “Son of a bitch. That would explain why they targeted this flight. Seattle to Hawaii would be one of the few domestic flights that would net them wealthy passengers, expensive cargo and enough fuel to escape to South America.” He fell silent, frowning, his eyebrows a heavy black line above his hooded gaze. A moment later he glanced at Simcosky. “The M.O. she’s describing is identical to that hijacking down in Buenos Aries last summer. They slaughtered everyone in coach, but ransomed the first-class passengers. Argentina kept a lid on it.”
Did this mean they were beginning to believe her?
Rawlings rubbed his palm over his flat stomach. That merciless coldness still lurked in his brilliant blue eyes, but the chill wasn’t directed at her any longer. “Zane’s right—the M.O.’s identical. And the plane was diverted to the interior of Puerto Jardin. This has to be the same crew.”
“Or,” Simcosky said, his voice dry. He crossed his arms over his chest and settled into a subtly challenging stance. “She could be blowing smoke up our asses. She dreamed the entire hijacking from start to finish? Including the landing? Dreams don’t last that long. Nor are they so cohesive. Hell, even if she did have this dream, it’s more likely it was triggered by fear of flying.”
“I didn’t dream the whole thing at once,” Beth interjected. “I kept waking up. But every time I fell back asleep it would pick up where it had left off. As for fear of flying….” She held Simcosky’s cold gaze. “I work for PAL—PacAtlantic,” she explained when Zane frowned. “We get to fly free. I’ve been all over the world, so believe me, boarding a plane doesn’t scare me. Besides, I wasn’t planning on taking this flight.”
Zane froze, every muscle in his body rigid. His head turned, and he scanned her face. “You don’t have a ticket for our flight?”
“I’m on standby. Listing myself was the only way I could pick up a boarding pass.”
“When did you register?” Zane’s asked, his voice tense, his face tight, as though he already suspected the answer and didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“I don’t know—maybe an hour ago.” She watched his jaw clench.
“Fuck.” He dropped his hand from her neck and stalked a tight circuit around the cramped room. His two friends watched in silence.
“What’s wrong?” When he simply shook his head, she felt compelled to explain. “Signing up for standby was the only way I could get through the security gate and over to the departure terminal. It was the only way I could take a look at the passengers waiting to board.”
“And you didn’t check any baggage.” Zane sounded grimmer by the moment.
Alarm skittered down Beth’s spine. “Well, no, even if a seat became available I wasn’t going to take it. I was going to cancel the listing.”
“Did you at least tell someone else about this dream and what you were planning to do?”
“Uh… no.” At the sharp curse that echoed through the room, Beth flinched and stumbled into more explanations. “The whole thing seemed so crazy… and I didn’t want anyone at work to think that I was… well… crazy.”
“Great. Just. Fucking. Great.” Zane swung around, frustration stamped across his face.
“You’re buying trouble,” Simcosky told him calmly. “We don’t know whether weapons are stashed on that plane.”
“The hell we don’t.” Zane squared off against his buddy, every muscle in his body radiating aggression. “You know what I—” He broke off, glanced at Beth and shook his head. “She repeated—word for word—that entire exchange in the terminal. An exchange that took place an hour before she arrived. If she’d been listening in from somewhere, I would have known. I would have sensed her.”
Rawlings nodded in solemn agreement. “His spontaneous erection would have given her away.”
He spoke with such sincerity it took a moment for his words to register. When they did, Beth’s face flared like a stovetop.
Zane sent his mouthy friend a glare, but Simcosky ignored the comment.
Without even glancing in the blond jokester’s direction, Simcosky focused on Beth’s face. “You have these dreams often? The kind that come true?”
Beth shook her head and wished she could fan some of the heat from her face. “Never. I’m not psychic.”
“True.” There was an undercurrent of dryness in Simcosky’s tone. “Psychic visions aren’t nearly so detailed.” He paused a moment and raised his eyebrows, his gaze steady on Zane’s face. “Or helpful.”
Beth frowned, watching another round of silent messages shoot back and forth.
Zane swung back to her. “What made you question this dream? Most people would shrug it off the next morning.”
“The dream didn’t start in the terminal. It started with me driving to work… only I couldn’t take my normal route because of a fire in an abandoned warehouse. And then when I got to work, I got this call from a friend—”
Zane instantly picked up on what she hadn’t said. “The fire happened, so did the call from your friend. That’s what sent you to the terminal to check out the passengers.”
Beth nodded and coughed to clear her throat. “After Shelby called, I started wondering about the plane. It kept niggling at me, so I asked for a vacation day and listed myself on standby. But I never expected to recognize anyone.”
With quick strides, Zane paced back to her side. “We must have come as a shock.”
“You have no idea.”
Zane grinned, but it quickly faded. For a long moment he stared into space. “How many hijackers are we talking about?”
“There were six. Two sets of three. They were seated across the aisle from each other, in the middle of the
plane.”
There was a pregnant pause. Rawlings broke it. “If the guns were already on board, there has to be an inside man,” he said, his face devoid of the lazy humor Beth associated with him.
“No shit.” Zane scowled into the corner of the supply closet.
“Odds are it’s someone from PacAtlantic,” Rawlings pressed.
Zane growled and pivoted to face Beth. “Who would have access to the plane between flights?”
“Well, of course the bag smashers have access.” When Zane grinned, Beth realized what she’d said and flushed. The company didn’t appreciate that particular nickname.
She held up a hand and started ticking off the possibilities as they occurred to her. “The cleaners, caterers, gate agents, mechanics, fuelers, the flight crew…. She fell silent as a final department occurred to her.
“What?” Zane asked those green eyes locked on her face.
“The engineering department, my department, has access as well,” she reluctantly admitted.
It felt like a betrayal to even mention it. There was no way anyone she worked with could be involved in something so horrific. But her engineers did have complete access between flights and the ground crew wouldn’t think twice about someone from engineering boarding the plane.
Although Zane didn’t make a sound, the muscles across his shoulders bunched.
Simcosky watched him for a few moments before turning those steel eyes on Beth. “Tell us about this dream of yours. Start to finish. Everything.”
The three men listened intently as she described her nightmare. When she mentioned the blocks of clay-like substance they’d used to blow the cockpit doors, Zane hissed. “C4,” he said and the other two nodded. “They’re pros. Too much and they’d blow the plane. Not enough and they wouldn’t breach the cockpit door.” Zane’s comment was followed by another round of nods. “What kind of guns?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned, thinking of the Die Hard and James Bond movies she’d been subjected to throughout the years. What was it about first dates and action movies? She eyed Zane. He probably loved those fast-paced, blow-everything-up in-sight action flicks. Just one more thing they didn’t have in common. “They looked like machine guns.”
A slow smile spread across Zane’s face, one of pure indulgence. “They couldn’t have been machine guns. They’re long-range weapons that require tripods.”
Beth rolled her eyes. “They had lots of bullets and they killed you. What more do you need to know?”
“The make and model. That way we’ll know how many bullets to dodge,” the blond said, his blue eyes back to laughing.
She folded her arms across her chest and set her shoulders. They were running out of time. “Look. I don’t see how the model is going to make a difference. We know they’re on board. Can’t you guys just make some calls and have someone check the plane?”
“The type of weapons tells us how they got them on board. You said they look like machine guns, so it’s likely they’re submachines. An MP5 would have to be hidden in a tote—like a toolbox. Which means the inside guy could be from maintenance.” Simcosky’s gaze shifted between Beth and Zane. “Or engineering,” he added, his tone flat.
From Zane’s tight expression, this information wasn’t news to him.
She ignored the suggestion that someone from her department might be involved. They didn’t know her engineers. It simply wasn’t possible. “There’s less than seventy minutes before the plane boards. Isn’t there someone you can call to get the plane searched but without alerting the hijackers?”
The silence that fell was even deeper and more intimidating than it had been earlier when she’d blurted out his name. Beth’s stomach clenched as she got a good look at the grim expression on Zane’s face.
“See, we have a problem, sweetheart,” he finally said, rubbing his heart. “I can make some calls. I can get that plane searched. Once you point the hijackers out, we can contain them until the white knights arrive.” He fell silent, the tension solidifying the air surrounding them, until it pulsed like a bass drum.
“But that’s good. That’s exactly what we want. I don’t see any problem with that,” Beth whispered, forcing the words out her suddenly tight throat. She waited for the other shoe to drop, because something was obviously very, very wrong.
Zane sighed, shook his head and wrapped an arm around her waist. With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer. She didn’t fight him. Something told her she was going to need the comfort.
“The problem… is there’s obviously an inside accomplice. Someone from PacAtlantic. Someone with access to the plane between flights. And once the FBI starts investigating, you’ll rise to the top of their suspect list. “
* * *
Zane watched every ounce of color leech from Beth’s face.
Her eyes widened. “But I’m trying to stop it.”
“I know.” He ran a soothing hand up and down her spine. He could sense her fear rising. It vibrated against his hand and brushed against his mind. An alien emotion. Unfamiliar. A texture and tone that didn’t originate within him.
The bond was already forming, acting as a conductor, linking them. If he could keep her close—close enough to touch—the bond would form faster. Physical contact accelerated the connection. He needed to cement the link as soon as possible, tie her to him. If he suddenly went wheels-up, he’d deploy with the peace of knowing Beth was already his.
“But the agents investigating won’t. One of the things they’ll look at is behavior. And yours will look pretty damn suspicious.”
She thought that over, the worry lines in her forehead deepening. “Why?”
“It’s a combination of things. Number one, you work for PacAtlantic and in a department with access to their planes between flights. Number two, you listed yourself on standby mere hours before the flight boarded. You did this spur of the moment, without telling your coworkers, and without telling anyone about your dream. Number three, this is a plane to Hawaii, but you only took one day off and brought no luggage. When they start looking into passengers, your behavior is going to stand out. It’s going to look suspicious as hell.”
The muscles of her throat trembled. Another surge of fear brushed against his mind. He rubbed her back again. Up and down, a slow soothing glide. What they needed was an explanation for her behavior. His hand slowed as the solution occurred to him.
He swallowed a grin. Christ, it was perfect. A fucking gift. And they’d already set the stage with that hot-as-hell kiss. Plus, it would serve a dual purpose. It would keep her tied to him as he fanned these flames, and forged the connection between them, but it would also give the investigators a concrete reason for her behavior. They might not cross her off their suspect list, but they wouldn’t look at her quite so closely.
It was perfect.
When she pulled away Zane let her go, and that odd, whispery tickle brushing against his subconscious vanished.
“But I don’t have access to the planes. I’m just clerical. I don’t have clearance. My engineers do, although—” She shot Cosky a so-there look. “They don’t use toolboxes or totes so they couldn’t have smuggled the guns on board.” She blew out a relieved breath, as though that news would eradicate any suspicion directed her way.
Zane shook his head. “If your guys have access to the plane, they could have figured out a way to get the guns on board. And you could still be involved. At the very least, they’ll believe you knew about the planned hijacking, but didn’t come forward to report it.”
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’ll explain about the dream. If I was involved, I wouldn’t be trying to stop the hijacking.”
Zane sighed. He hated the fear in her eyes, but she needed to be prepared. “They won’t believe you. What they’ll believe is you got cold feet and tried to back out. What they’ll believe is you made up the dream to give yourself a reason for knowing something you shouldn’t.”
Beth gulped and bit her bottom
lip, but she held his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. But we still have to tell someone—even if it’s going to get me into trouble. Without my dream, how will we convince someone to search the plane?”
Pride speared through Zane, followed by a healthy dose of respect. Even knowing the cost, she still insisted on intervening. She was willing to sacrifice her life for those passengers on the plane. Because at this point she had to know that if she became the major focus of such an investigation, it could well destroy her.
“We’re not going to tell anyone you’re the one who had the dream,” Zane told her, aware that Cosky and Rawls had gone still.
They’d probably already figured out where he was going with this. From the tight expressions on their faces, they didn’t like it. Which was no surprise. The real question was whether they’d go along with it.
“But we have to,” Beth’s voice rose with each word. “How will we get anyone to search the plane if we don’t tell them about my dream?”
He smiled at her words. She’d linked them together with we. She didn’t realize it yet, but she was already coupling them in her mind. It was a start. A toehold he could build on.
“You’re telling Mackenzie you had the dream.” Cosky’s face turned stone-cold.
Zane didn’t deny it, just let the silence build. Let them think the ramifications through without fast talk or fancy words. He counted the two men across from him as his closest friends, trusted them implicitly. They were brothers in every way that counted.
What he was asking went beyond the bonds of brotherhood, beyond the bonds of friendship. Hell, it slashed right through the creed they lived by. You didn’t lie to your team. Ever.
Yet he was asking them to deceive their commanding officer, a man they respected, even considered a good friend—a man who’d had their backs every single time it mattered. Yeah, they’d been planning on telling Mac about Zane’s visions, but this was different. The bulk of their information had come courtesy of a woman they knew nothing about. A woman they couldn’t be certain wasn’t involved. A woman who would be wanted for questioning if the truth were to leak out.
Forged in Fire Page 5