I walked out to the parking lot, digging through my bag for my keys. I didn’t notice a white Porsche was parked next to me until I was standing beside it. I was sandwiched between his car and my Jeep when the passenger window rolled down.
“You stayed late,” he said, leaning over so he could look through the window.
“What can I say? I love my job.”
He smirked. “You hate this place and you know it.”
I gasped in mock disdain. “Is it that obvious?”
“I just read you well.”
I snorted. “If you read me at all, you wouldn’t come around me. Go away,” I said and turned to let myself into my car.
“I am going away.”
My head snapped up and I turned around. “You’re leaving town?”
He nodded. “On my way to the airport.”
I was finally getting my wish. He was leaving. I would never have to look at his face again. Why did I not feel happy about this? “Well, I’d say I was sorry to see you go…” I shrugged, leaving the rest of my sentence dangling in the air.
He ignored my sarcasm. “Go home. Pack a bag.”
“What?”
“You’re coming with me.”
I laughed. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“It’s not a request.” His eyes narrowed.
“I don’t take kindly to orders.”
He opened his door and got out, coming around the back of his SUV. “I knew you were going to be difficult. That’s why I took the liberty of packing a bag for you.” He reached inside the back and pulled out a purple duffle bag. My purple duffle bag.
My mouth fell open. “You went to my house. You went through my things?”
“You need to clean out your closet.”
“How the hell do you get in and out of my apartment?”
He smirked. “I have friends.”
“You have friends? How much do you have to pay them to keep them around?”
“Very funny,” he replied. “I don’t have time to argue with you. I’ll follow you home. Park your Jeep. Then we’re going to the airport.”
The depth of his idiocy was incredible. “I’m. Not. Going.”
His green eyes flashed with impatience and he stalked toward me, burying both his hands into his jean pockets. He was wearing jeans. Not dress pants or trousers. Honest to God jeans. They were low slung, worn, and faded with a rip in one of the knees. I looked at his shirt. It was a plain, long-sleeved cotton tee with half the hem tucked into the front of said jeans.
Holy hell, could he wear a pair of jeans. If I looked like that in jeans, I would sleep in them. I certainly wouldn’t wear dress pants.
He snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Frankie.” When I looked at him, he continued. “I don’t have time to argue with you. The plane is ready. I’m not leaving you here to wreak havoc on my life while I’m gone.” He brought his jean-wearing self even closer, the toe of his Nike bumping into the toe of my heel. “Don’t think I didn’t know what you were up to at lunch the other day, what you were going to do.”
I batted my eyes at him all innocent-like.
“Please,” he muttered. “There isn’t an innocent bone in your entire body.”
I scowled. “You are so rude.”
“If I was as rude as you think, I would have killed you for all the stuff you’ve pulled. Instead, I’m hauling you off on vacation and you’re stupid enough to argue about it.”
Wait a minute. Vacation?
A sly smile slipped over his features when he saw the interest in my eyes. Gah! I was so stupid. I should have acted like I was still annoyed.
“Have you ever been to California?” he asked, dangling a carrot in front of a very hungry rabbit (me). “The palm trees, the beaches…”
Act like you don’t care. Act like you don’t care, I repeated over and over in my head.
“Rodeo Drive…” he added.
A rabbit couldn’t resist a carrot. How was I supposed to resist all that? “You’re going to California?”
“No, we are.”
“I can’t go to California. I have to work. I have a life.”
He rolled his eyes. “Please. You hate your life.”
“I do not!” I burst out.
He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over that sexy body of his.
“Just my job and everything currently going on in my personal life… which is all your fault.”
“Well then, take advantage of a free vacation to Los Angeles. I’ll even give you my American Express card to go shopping.”
I pursed my lips. “You really think I’m going to screw everything up, don’t you?”
“Oh, I know you will, and I have enough to deal with already. Get in your car.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re already late.”
“Oh, shucks. We’ll miss the plane.”
He grinned. “Private jets don’t take off without their passengers, love.”
I don’t know if it was the “private jet” part or the “love” part that had me agreeing and climbing into my Jeep and driving home. But before I knew it, I was sitting in his Porsche heading toward the airport.
It was only then that I realized I hated flying. Planes made me extremely nervous. So obviously it hadn’t been the “private jet” that got me here. It was the fact that the endearment “love” sometimes fell so naturally off his tongue.
Oh, and the way he looked in those jeans…
I never even stood a chance.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Aviophobia - the fear of flying.”
Charming
You could learn a lot from someone just by watching them. Really watching them. It was something I never realized when I was alive. If I had, I might not have died the way I did. Now, I had a lot of practice at watching people and I knew fear when I saw it.
I’ve witnessed a broad range of emotion from Frankie, but fear wasn’t one of them. Unease? Yes. Nervousness? Yes. Flustered, annoyed, angry… Yes, yes, and yes. Desire? Desire was my favorite.
She was literally a kaleidoscope of feeling. You never knew which feelings of hers might blend together and what would happen when they did. I was shocked when she agreed to come with me so easily. I wondered if the dark circles beneath her eyes were part of the reason. That and the fact I hadn’t seen her consume sugar at all the last few times I saw her. She was looking a little thin; I realized I liked her better filled out.
“Are you scared of flying?” I asked. Amusement sparked through me like a sparkler on the fourth of July as I watched her grip the armrests of her seat.
“No,” she said harshly. Then she looked at the floor. “Maybe.”
I grinned.
“Wipe that smile off your face before I do it for you,” she growled.
“There’s a stash of candy over there by the mini bar.” I pointed to the other side of the plane where all the drinks were kept chilled.
The jet lurched forward as it began to taxi to the runway. Her skin turned green. I saw her swallow thickly.
I sighed. Watching her misery wasn’t as entertaining as I thought it might be. I went to the mini bar and pulled out some clear rum and a can of sprite. I combined them both over ice in a crystal glass and took it over to her.
“Here, how about some sugar poured over liquor?”
“Thanks,” she said, looking at the glass, but she made no move to loosen her death grip on the armrest so she could take it.
I sat down in the seat beside hers. “You ever been to L.A.?”
“No.”
“Never? Wow. I think you’ll like it. It’s warm and sunny. The sun always shines. The people are tan and beautiful. The palm trees are taller than a lot of the buildings here and the beach—”
“I’ve never been to the beach.” She interrupted.
That surprised me. “You’ve never seen the ocean?”
“Just on television.”
“I think you’re going to love it.”
“How do you know?” she asked. I noticed her skin was now back to its original complexion. Her fingers seemed to be getting a little more circulation as well.
“Because,” I said, leaning in closer to her, “it’s a lot like you. Larger than life. It fills up the space in front of you as far as you can see. And it can be temperamental.” I smiled when she made a face. “One minute it’s crashing onto the sand with great ferocity, but the next moment the waves become gentle and it laps at your ankles like a soft caress.”
She let go of the armrests completely and leaned a little closer. “Sounds like you’re the one who really loves the ocean.”
I stared at her for long minutes, her words not really penetrating my brain. All I could think about was how pretty she was sitting there with those loose blond curls framing her face and her nervous pink cheeks. But then the word love broke through the haze in my brain. I shook my head. “I don’t love anything.”
She sat back. I handed her the drink, which she took and downed about half in one great slurp. “We’re in the air,” she said.
“You didn’t even notice we were taking off.” I got up and moved across the plane to sit on a small couch over by a few small windows.
“It’s those damn jeans,” she murmured.
“What about my jeans?”
“Stupid superpower hearing,” she muttered, taking another drink.
“You like my jeans, huh?” Smug satisfaction filled my chest.
“I’d like them better if you took them into another room and stayed there.”
“You keep up that attitude, this is going to be a very long flight.”
“How long is it anyway?”
“About nine hours.”
She gaped at me. “Nine hours stuck on a plane with you?”
I grinned.
“What are we going to do for nine hours?”
“I can think of a few things.” I wagged my eyebrows. “Want to see how my jeans look on the floor?”
She spit her drink halfway across the room and the back of her hand flew to her mouth. “Ew! You are so gross!”
I scowled. “That’s not what you were saying the other night when I kissed you.”
“Do not remind me.”
“Why? Afraid you’ll want to do it again?”
Her shoulders slumped a little and she swiveled her chair toward the window. “If I get fired for this little trip, you owe me a million dollars.”
I would take her silence on the kissing subject as a yes. “A million dollars? I didn’t realize DMV employees made so much money.”
“They don’t. Most of it would be for the mental abuse I’m suffering at your hands.”
I laughed.
“I think a shopping spree on Rodeo drive will change your mind.”
“I’m not going shopping on Rodeo drive.”
“No?” I figured that was the first place she would go.
“No. I’m not spending your money.”
“But you’ll take a million?”
She looked around the back of her chair at me and rolled her eyes.
“So what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
“Find the beach.”
“We’re staying on the beach. I have a house right on the sand.”
Her chair spun back around to face me. “Are you serious?”
“Views from every room.”
“How much money do you have?” she wondered.
More than she or I could ever spend. More money than some small countries. Killing paid well. Killing for over ninety years made a man very, very rich. I opened my mouth to answer and she held up her hand.
“Don’t answer. It doesn’t matter.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the way you earned it.”
Irritation slammed through me. Figures she’d say that. “Money is just paper. It really doesn’t have anything to do with the job.”
“You do the job for the money,” she spat.
“I do the job because I have to,” I snapped, getting up and going to the bar. Shit, this was going to be a long plane ride. I should have just left her in Alaska and done damage control when I got home. It probably would have done me good to get away from her. She drove me mad. I poured half a glass of brandy and took a swallow.
“Because you’ll get Recalled,” she said softly.
“Yeah, and I’m in no hurry for that to happen.”
“It’s pretty terrible?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it, love,” I said, wincing when the endearment slipped out. Again. I had no idea why I kept doing that. Calling people by anything other than their name was something I never did. “You won’t feel a thing.”
“But you will,” she whispered. I figured I wasn’t meant to hear that either so I didn’t bother to reply. I wasn’t naïve enough to think she actually cared.
“What’s the purpose of this trip anyway? I thought you were all about your Target,” she said with mock seriousness.
I didn’t bother to sit back down, but paced the cabin instead. This jet was feeling smaller than usual.
“I am all about my Target. That’s why you’re here.”
“Well, then?”
I took another drink of the alcohol and hoped it would numb my brain. She asked too many questions. “Work.”
“Is Rosalyn traveling to L.A.?” she wondered out loud. Then she said, “Couldn’t be, then you wouldn’t have cared if I was there.”
I stayed silent. I was tired of talking.
“If you’re not going for Rosalyn, but it’s still work…” She gasped. “You’re going to kill someone. Aren’t you?”
I closed my eyes. How did she make everything I did sound so awful? “It’s really not any of your business.”
“Are you kidding me?” she shouted. “You’re making me an accessory to murder!”
“Keep your voice down,” I said, glancing at the cockpit. “And you can’t be an accessory to something you know nothing about.”
She drained the rest of her drink, set the glass on a nearby table, and then spun her chair back toward the window. I guess that meant she was done bitching at me. Thank God.
We sat in silence for a long time. I finished my drink and had another, watched the sports highlights on the mini flat screen, and stared out the window into the dark. Flying didn’t bother me—I did it all the time—but sitting here left me feeling restless. She still hadn’t turned that chair around. She hadn’t uttered a word.
It made me mad that I was sitting here even thinking about her pouting. I took my empty glass over to the bar and then grabbed her chair and turned it around. She was sitting with her knees pulled up and her chin resting on top. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and she tilted her head back and looked at me. “What?”
“Are you going move in the next eight hours?”
She sighed and unfolded herself from the chair. “Where’s my bag?” she asked.
I motioned to the back of the cabin to the large closet where I put our bags. She pulled open the door and yanked out her bag so it was practically on top of her feet. Then she glanced at me and pointed to the garment bag hanging inside the closet. “Seriously? You put your clothes in a garment bag? How many pairs of trousers did you bring?”
I wondered what she would say if she knew there was a body in that bag and not my trousers. A body I stole from the Grim Reaper. And what the hell was wrong with trousers? They were classy. The way she said it, you would think I was running around in sweatpants. “If I had known you liked me in jeans so much, I would have brought more of those instead.”
Her cheeks turned pink and she bent down to rummage through her bag. After a few minutes, she made a sound. “Didn’t you bring me a sweatshirt?”
“We’re going to California. It’s hot there.”
“But this plane is freezing.”
Charmed (Death Escorts) Page 16