Hell Bent

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “Right, then!” Clara jumped down from the counter and brushed her hands on the legs of her jeans. “I’m off to spend a penny.” She brushed past her father and Annabelle and headed through the living room, where a hallway led to a bathroom and two bedrooms beyond.

  “Spend a penny?”

  “Use the restroom.”

  “Oh.” Annabelle ran a hand through her hair. And then she stopped. She’d been temporarily distracted from their previous conversation and the source of her extreme agitation, but it came crashing suddenly back as the thought of getting into a tin can with teensy wings and rocketing to 37,000 feet sent a horrible chill down her spine and formed a tight knot in the pit of her stomach.

  “Come with me, Bella.” Jack gently grabbed her by the upper arm and steered her through the living room, down the same hallway through which his daughter had just disappeared.

  They moved to the last door on the left and Jack turned the knob. He led Annabelle inside and closed the door behind them. Then he released her and moved to the black bag that sat at the edge of the bed. He leaned over, unzipped it, and pulled a small black bottle from an interior pocket. He turned to face her.

  Annabelle watched as he opened the bottle and shook a pill out into the cap. It was small, round, and white, with a single line down its center. To Annabelle, it looked like an aspirin. And felt like something much more sinister.

  “Drugs, Jack? I didn’t think you were a fan.”

  His eyebrow shot up and the corners of his mouth curled up slightly. “I’m not, luv. These aren’t for me.”

  Annabelle’s brow furrowed. And then she straightened. “Oh…” She looked from him to the pills in his hand and, at once, recognized them for what they were.

  Murder weapons.

  “You want me to take something that you were planning on using on one of your marks, Jack?” Again, her hands were on her hips. They seemed to have taken up residence there. “Poison?” Her expression was incredulous.

  “I never use poison, Bella. That’s far too obvious. Only an amateur would consider it.” He shook his head. “Stick with the basics and no one so much as bats an eye.” He moved toward her, took her hand, and opened it palm-up. “This is a mild tranquilizer. It’ll get you on the plane.”

  Annabelle stared down at the pill in her hand. The world spun around her. Jack Thane was giving her drugs. It was, honestly, the very last thing she would have expected from him. He didn’t even so much as drink. He was a clean string bean.

  “Nope.” She shook her head once and made to hand the pill back to him. But he didn’t take it.

  “In less than three hours, we’ll be boarding a private jet at a private landing strip,” he told her, his tone dropping into a more serious note. “At that time, our little group will consist of myself, Dylan, whose parents were the target in this cover-up, Cassie, who has useful knowledge in the pharmaceutical arena, and you, Bella, who are at the center of this entire mystery, whether you like it or not.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I need you to be ready and willing and able to help. None of which will you be if you are too busy dreaming up all of the wonderfully imaginative ways in which a plane might crash and its occupants might expire.” There was more than the smallest note of sarcasm lacing his deep, British accent.

  Annabelle’s gaze narrowed. She glanced down at the pill and then back up at him. “Who’s going to be flying the plane?”

  “An old mate of mine who actually owns the plane.”

  “And exactly how old is this mate of yours? Scratch that – actually,” she shifted her stance onto her other hip, a thoughtful expression joining the one of doubt that had already occupied her face. “I’m guessing you’re referring to Sam, so I already know. How old is the plane?”

  “The plane is new,” Jack answered calmly. “And Sam has been flying for the better part of thirty years.”

  Bella stared up at him for several long moments. She slowly closed her fingers over the pill in her palm and then sighed. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, we’d better check on Beatrice – and I want to give Trinity a call to make sure she and that guy you sent her and the twins off with got to the safe house all right.”

  Jack followed her out of the bedroom without saying anything more, for the moment. His mind was moving at a thousand RPM’s and showed no signs of slowing any time soon. Fear coursed through his veins in unfamiliar territory. He didn’t like fear. It made people do strange things – unplanned things – and messed up their ability to reason logically. It had been a while since Jack had experienced it. The real stuff, anyway. A few worries and your mandatory concern here and there – but not fear. Real, live dread.

  And it wasn’t a plane ride that had him on edge.

  He watched as Annabelle moved down the hallway toward the living room and kitchen and the phone that hung on the wall between the two. He didn’t fail to notice when she covertly snuck the pill he’d given her into her jeans’ front pocket. He smiled grimly. The next few days were going to be hell on wheels.

  “Mr. Thane,” Alex intercepted them as they entered the living room. He was holding what looked like a walkie-talkie in his right hand and a gun, un-holstered and loaded, in his left. The gun was easy at his side, pointed toward the floor. The radio, he held out toward Jack.

  Alex was left-handed. Annabelle always noticed things like that.

  Jack took the walkie-talkie that Alex handed him and clicked a button on its side. “Go.” He said, and released the button.

  “We have a touch-down. Give him a few to re-fuel and run some checks and you guys can head on over.”

  “Fine.” Jack clicked and un-clicked the button one last time and handed the radio back to Alex, who waited patiently for instruction.

  “Wake up Cassie and find my daughter. Tell them to gather whatever they think they’ll need from the stores in the basement. We’ll move out within the hour.”

  Alex nodded and Annabelle watched him leave the room. Her stomach leapt up into her throat. She thought about the pill in her pocket. Jack’s voice cut through her thoughts.

  “Join me for a cup of tea, Bella.”

  She turned to watch him move around her and into the kitchen, where he began pulling containers and mugs from the cupboards. He filled a tea kettle with water from the tap and placed it atop the stove. It was a very old-fashioned way of making tea, to her mind. She had practically married her microwave over the last five years. Her stove would be obsolete if she didn’t love spaghetti so much.

  “Tea? If you weren’t British, I’d think you were pulling my leg.”

  Jack smiled. “Chamomile,” he said as he held up a tea bag for her perusal. “It calms the nerves.”

  She shook her head. A professional killer touting the benefits of homeopathic tea remedies? Her smile matched his own. “I’m allergic to ragweed. Isn’t chamomile a relative?” She teased.

  Jack’s smile broadened. “Just have the tea, luv. And you can take the time to tell me more about the clue you unearthed in the car.”

  Annabelle shrugged. “Well, you heard all there really is to tell.” As she thought about the clue that she and her companions had riddled out in the back of the limo, she also thought of Max. And then came the familiar and unwelcome tightening in her chest.

  She tried to ignore it by continuing to talk.

  “The letters and spaces were a name and location. The name, Craig Brandt, isn’t one I’m familiar with. I don’t recall Max ever mentioning him, but then he probably wouldn’t. My guess is that it was someone his wife knew. Teresa.”

  Jack nodded, listening quietly. The tea kettle began to whistle. Jack turned off the stove and poured the boiling liquid over the tea bags in two mugs. Annabelle went on.

  “Columbia Medical was most likely where Teresa went to medical school. I can’t ask Max… obviously…” She paused and cleared her throat. Jack turned to watch her carefully. “But I seem to recall him mentioning at some point that he used to live in or arou
nd the Big Apple. Dylan was probably too young, at that time, to remember much of any detail, but he didn’t seem to object to the idea of his mom being associated with Columbia.” She paused and considered something. “There may be records at their house. Which, of course, is now off-limits.” She shrugged. “The school, at least, should have her academic record, at any rate.”

  She stopped and cleared her throat again and then reached for the mug she chose as hers before Jack could hand it to her. It had an owl on it. She liked owls.

  She took the mug and then also pulled out two of the five tea bags from the pot and dumped them into her own cup. She wanted them to seep an extra long time.

  “Do you have soy creamer?” she asked as she opened the refrigerator.

  “Yes. In the top shelf of the door.”

  Annabelle found the small container of unsweetened creamer and closed the fridge door. She gave the carton a good shake and then screwed off the top, pouring its white, creamy contents right on top of her tea bags. She grabbed the tea bags by their strings and pumped them up and down, mixing the creamer into the tea, before pulling the bags out entirely and tossing them into the trash.

  “Pull that in England and the queen will see you drawn and quartered,” Jack said, his tone softly teasing.

  “I’m an American, Jack. We’re all savages.”

  Jack chuckled and held his mug out to her. “To your health, luv.”

  Annabelle clinked his mug with hers and then took a sip of the milky tea. It was warm and soothing and even though chamomile wasn’t her first choice of teas and definitely not the one she’d have chosen for an accompaniment to soy creamer, she had to admit that, from the first sip, it seemed to settle her nerves a little.

  She swallowed a few hot gulps and then continued where she’d left off. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it since our brief stop at the airport. My guess is that Teresa stumbled upon something while in New York. Maybe this Brandt guy knows about it too. Maybe they were even partners or something. But whatever it was she discovered or overheard or figured out – got her killed.”

  And Max, came the silent thought that followed.

  Jack took another sip of his tea and mulled that over. He’d been thinking along the same lines.

  “You make enough for all of us, da’?”

  Jack and Annabelle turned as Clara walked into the kitchen, closely followed by Cassie, Dylan and Alex. Now the whole group was together. Except for Beatrice, whom Annabelle guessed was still sleeping off the effects of one too many diminutive, over-priced bottles of airplane liquor.

  “Of course, dear daughter,” Jack replied wryly. “I always consider everyone affected by each and every one of my actions.” His deep voice dripped of sarcasm, and in his British accent, it was nearly taunting. “It would be selfish and inconsiderate of me to do otherwise.”

  Annabelle’s brows rose, as did Cassie’s and even Alex’s. There was more than a little double meaning to Jack’s words, and the narrowed gaze that his daughter shot in his direction confirmed as much.

  Clara gave the pot a sniff and wrinkled her nose. “Chamomile. Not my cup o’ tea.”

  “I’ll take some,” Cassie interjected, brushing past everyone to move to the cupboard where she’d correctly guessed that the coffee mugs would be located. She pulled one down and turned to face the others.

  “So, when do we leave?” She asked as she lifted the pot off of the stove and poured a good helping into her mug.

  “Soon,” Annabelle answered, opening the fridge to get the creamer for her friend.

  “Wow. Tea on the stove. Quaint but cool.” Cassie returned the pot to its place and took the creamer from Annabelle with a nod of thanks.

  “Microwave your tea in England and the queen will have you drawn and quartered,” Annabelle offered, smiling softly.

  Jack shook his head once and put his empty mug in the sink. When he turned and made to leave the kitchen, everyone stepped back, affording him the room. Annabelle wondered at their actions. It was amazing to her how some people simply commanded the area around them, demanding a certain amount of deference and space.

  When he was gone, Alex opened the fridge, took out a can of soda, and followed his employer out of the kitchen. Dylan followed, wearing a distracted expression and leaving Annabelle, Clara and Cassie behind in the kitchen.

  “So, what’s the deal, Clara? Did you seriously just decide to visit, on a whim, and now was the best time?” Annabelle asked, pinning the teenager with a hard gaze. She’d had some time to consider Clara’s actions and, while on the face of them, they might appear to be the normal rebellious and spontaneous actions of a teenage British girl who hadn’t seen the states and needed an excuse to do so, the truth was, the timing was a little too off on all fronts.

  Clara would still be in school in England. If Annabelle was at all familiar with the academic systems in Jack’s territory, then Clara was finished with her required, or as they termed it, her “compulsory” education, but just like in the states, education didn’t stop there. Clara would have begun college or would currently be stuck right smack in the middle of what the British termed “sixth form college”. Annabelle likened it to community college or maybe even finishing school. But whether she was in sixth form or had already begun at some University in England, this time of year would be testing time. So, for Clara, now was literally the worst time to be absent from her classes.

  Clara narrowed her gaze on Annabelle and leaned casually up against the counter. She chewed on her cheek for a moment, perhaps wondering whether or not she should bother explaining herself to the woman in front of her.

  “You know, I was sort of wondering the same thing,” Cassie said softly before she took another sip of her tea, eyeing the girl over the rim of her steaming mug.

  Clara snorted and then straightened. Then she tossed a long lock of her jet-black dyed hair over her shoulder and brushed past the two of them to exit the kitchen.

  When she was gone, Annabelle and Cassie looked at each other. They shrugged simultaneously and returned to their teas.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You’re wearing a hole in that carpet, hon’,” Cassie sighed and sat back against the couch as she watched her friend pace back and forth in front of all of them.

  “How long is the flight again, Jack?” Annabelle asked, running a hand nervously through her long hair. She turned at the end of the small living room space and walked hurriedly in the opposite direction. Again.

  Jack tried not to grit his teeth when he answered, for the third time in the last hour, “Approximately two hours, luv.” He, too, sighed and sat back against into the love seat across from Cassie and Dylan. “And seventeen minutes, give or take.”

  “Thanks for that, Mr. Spock,” Clara shot him an aggrieved look.

  Jack shrugged, eyebrows lifted. His daughter, who was seated in a love seat adjacent to the couch, only smiled in response.

  “Miss Drake, the flight will be over before you know it. It’s like – take off, level out, get a drink, and then land. Or, at least that’s what it’s like when you fly commercial,” Dylan told her. His voice was soft and his tone somewhat deadened, but his words were meant to comfort. And, coming from him, at this point in time, that was something that Annabelle could appreciate.

  She stopped pacing and turned to face him. “Are you sure, Dylan? Because that chamomile tea was nice at first,” she shot a look at Jack and then looked back at Dylan. “But it sure as hell didn’t last all that long.” Her own voice shook a little and it was obvious that she was so distracted by her own fear, she’d given up on social niceties hours ago.

  “I’m sure, Miss Drake,” Dylan straightened a little, now that he felt he’d actually said or done something useful toward the situation. “We can play cards. Your pick. I’ll even try to win this time.” He smiled a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and stood.

  Annabelle blinked. “Okay.” She chewed on her lip and forbade herself from resuming h
er nervous back and forth stride.

  “I’ll find a pack,” Dylan told her and then turned to Jack, who was watching the exchange with quiet interest.

  “In the kitchen,” Jack said, before Dylan could ask. “First drawer on the left.”

  Dylan nodded and left.

  Jack didn’t fail to notice that his daughter watched Dylan go, a strange expression on her pretty face. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  He re-focused his attention on Annabelle, before he could give the matter too much thought. Annabelle’s temporary sanity didn’t fool him one bit. Her posture was rigid with tension, her hands were gripped tightly in front of her, and he knew her too well. He stood and closed the space between them in two long strides. She watched him with large eyes.

  He bent and whispered in her ear. “You’re still terrified, aren’t you, luv.”

  She let out a shaking breath with a whoosh and nodded, closing her eyes.

  “Blimey… My head’s pounding like a bung-load of African drums…”

  Annabelle and Jack both turned to see Beatrice emerging from the hallway that led to the room where she’d been sleeping for the past two hours.

  “Mum, how are you feeling?” Clara stood and approached her mother, concern across her young features. Annabelle was instantly struck with the dichotomy of how she acted toward each parent.

  “I need an aspirin,” Beatrice said softly, as if speaking to Clara alone. Clara nodded and turned away, heading toward her own black backpack, which she’d draped over the arm of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. While she was gone, Beatrice took a moment to eye the living room’s occupants.

  Dylan had returned with the deck of cards and had already placed them inside his jacket pocket and re-claimed his end of the couch. Cassie sat back against the other end of the couch, more or less quiet, but watchful. She met Beatrice’s gaze head-on. Annabelle and Jack, of course, stood in the center of the room, watching her as well. No one spoke.

  “Well, Jack,” Beatrice sighed and claimed her ex-husband’s abandoned love seat. “I suppose you’d best go on and explain this mess to all of us now – that is, unless everyone else has already been de-briefed and I’m the only one still in the dark.”